In Honour of a Good Man
by Dewdropzz
Summary: Professor Hershel Layton has touched the lives of many people. With the top-hatted gentleman nearing the time of his death, some of Layton s closest companions will share their deepest thoughts and feelings about their beloved Professor.
1. My Mentor and My Friend

**Hey there Professor Layton fans! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this first chapter of a series of oneshots set in a post Professor Layton game world. First of all I would like to say thank you to falconadventurer, who asked me to write another chapter to After All I`ve Been through featuring a different Layton character, or the professor near his death. I decided I wanted to try both of these things, and that`s how this story was born. :D**

**I`m hoping to come out with another chapter every few days, featuring a different character each time. I`ll gladly take prompts if there`s anything in particular you`d like to see in this thing! Just leave a review or shoot me a PM and I`ll see what I can do!**

**This chapter was written kinda quick, and you may see me changing the wording of some things later, as I tend to do. ;) Again, thank you for coming along on this ride, and** **I really hope you enjoy this!**

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I got an e-mail today, from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. It's incredible to think how far technology's come in only a few years. Why, ten years ago that same message would have typically been sent by letter. It would have taken weeks to arrive here in Boston from London, England, and if that had been the case it may have come too late.

The e-mail said that a dear friend of mine wasn't doing well. He was eighty years old, going on eighty-one — Not particularly old for this day and age, where people are living well into their nineties. To a man like Professor Hershel Layton however, eighty-one years was plenty enough. Enough time to make his mark on the world, to explore faraway lands most would never get to explore, and to see incredible things most would never get to see. He had enough time to solve all the puzzles of the universe, to find his place in life, and to help others find theirs. If it hadn't been for Professor Layton, I would not be the man I am today.

Over forty years ago, I was the professor's apprentice. Or so I liked to call myself back then; I don't believe he ever recognized me as anything official. I was so young, so curious about the world, so eager to learn anything and everything I could from this striking archaeologist in the top hat. I used to follow him around like a puppy dog, and I believe he sincerely enjoyed it. I was someone to keep him company on his puzzle solving journeys; someone to help him out around the house, though I feel like we were rarely home in those days. We were always off on an adventure somewhere, solving the mystery of the tiny town of St. Mystere, or flying around the world in an airship, trying to learn the secrets of an ancient civilization.

When I look back now, I was the luckiest kid in the world, getting to experience all the things I did. Solving mysteries with the professor is what got me interested in criminology. I'm now a professor of my field at the University of Boston, but I don't like it when people refer to me as "_the professor_".

When I was little I wanted with all my heart to grow up exactly like him. Now that I'm older I see that nobody could really do that. There has never been another man quite like Professor Layton, and there never will be. Even after I moved with my parents to America, I would always hold onto the principles he taught me.

"A true gentleman leaves no puzzle unsolved."

"A gentleman must always pay attention to his manners, in every setting."

"It is the duty of every gentleman to help a lady in need."

"A gentleman never underestimates the power of a hot cup of tea."

I can still hear the professor's voice, passing on his wisdom to me. It really doesn't feel like it was that long ago. I traveled with the professor for three years, but the bond we built during that time was strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Professor Layton was like a father to me, and throughout the years he would remain a father figure, even after I had kids of my own. I've made several trips back to London over the years, and the professor has come to America to visit my father and I. The last time he came to see us was shortly after my wife, Lisa, and I had our second child. Michael Hershel Triton is fourteen now, and has an exceptional talent for solving puzzles. My mind always wanders back to this one time... Michael was having trouble with a particularly difficult brain teaser. I told him that he should never give up, because every puzzle has an answer.

"How do you know that?" Michael looked at me like I had just said something bizarre or obscene. I told him that the smartest person in the world had said it first.

When I'm helping Michael with puzzles, all I can think of is how quickly time goes by, and how funny it is that things have come full circle. Only yesterday it was me who was the inquisitive youth, with inquiring eyes full of wonder: "The professor's wide-eyed apprentice."

Now I am the adult, raising three boys of my own. I try to teach them everything my father and the professor taught me, in the hopes that they one day they will become true American gentleman. I know I could never fill the role of Professor Layton, nor could I ever pretend to. But I will strive every day to be like the professor, as a teacher, as a father, and as a friend.

Now I must go back to London, the city where I was born, the city in which I had so many adventures with an old friend whom I will never forget. I don't want to have to say goodbye, so I think I'll just tell the professor thank you. Thank you for everything you've done for me, everything you've taught me, and everything you've made me to be.

For one must always show gratitude to one's teachers.

That is what a gentlemen does.


	2. My Guardian Angel

**Hey again friends! Here's the second chapter of In Honour of a Good Man, this time told from the POV of the future Flora Reinhold. (in case you couldn't tell. :D) I'm sorry this chapter took a little longer than expected. It's a few hundred words longer than Luke's chapter, so I guess it all evens out. :)**

**Thank you so much guys for your reviews so far! Keep 'em coming. ;) I'll still gladly accept prompts.**

**Anyways, thanks a lot for reading (my story and my blabbering) and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

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_Rest your head, close your eyes_  
_Dream of emeralds in the sky _  
_A land bathed in eternal light_

_Dream of worlds far away_  
_Where it never isn't day_  
_For the emeralds shine bright __as the sun in the night_

I used to hear that song every night before I went to bed. The professor used to sing it to Alfendi, the baby boy he adopted after his love passed away, and Luke moved with his parents to America. One day I decided I liked hearing the professor sing those odd lyrics to a lullaby, as he sat in his bedroom and rocked his baby boy to sleep. Eventually I would start coming in to hear him too, and some nights I would even doze off in the professor's armchair. The professor's soft, baritone voice would sing us both to sleep... All these years later, when I look back at those nights, I realize those were some of the best years of my life.

I too was an adopted child of sorts of Professor Hershel Layton. When my father passed away, I was left all alone in a world that was made for me, but that wasn't really real. It was Professor Hershel Layton who solved the mystery of my village, and it was he who brought me into the real world, and promised to take care of me. Professor Layton became as much of a father to me as my real father, Augustus Reinhold. I never called him my father, as I lived with my birth father until I was fourteen. Instead I called him simply "Professor", just as everyone else in the world who knew him did. But to me it was more than a title of respect attributed to his profession. To me it was a name, just like I called my father "Papa". It was a familiar name that I trusted, and had trusted ever since he saved me from the collapsing building. It was a name that I respected, and it was a name I grew to love.

Professor Hershel Layton was everything to me. A guardian angel, always there, always keeping a watchful eye over me. Even when he would leave me home to go on his long, puzzle-solving expeditions, I knew he was always thinking of me. He just didn't want me to get hurt, though it was hard for me to understand it as a girl. I used to hate it when he would leave me home alone, and I would usually always find a way to meet up with he and Luke before I missed out on too much of the adventure.

When I think about it now, I hope I wasn't too much of a burden to them... I wasn't good at solving puzzles like the professor and Luke were. I did try my hand at the occasional puzzle though, and I would try to be useful wherever I could. I especially liked to cook for the professor and his "apprentice". They always looked so tired when they came in from a long day of mystery solving, and I just couldn't let them cook for themselves. Of course in those days my cooking wasn't really all that tasty, to put it mildly... I didn't give up on my culinary quest, though. My cooking improved over the years, preparing meals for the professor and Luke, and later the professor and Alfendi. I ended up becoming so interested in cooking that I went to college for culinary arts as soon as I finished high school. I suppose it was really thanks to the professor that I was given the position of head chef at a big restaurant along the River Thames. I worked there for quite a few years, until I started having kids of my own. It's hard to believe my children are now in their late teens and early twenties. The time has flown by at an alarming rate, but they say time flies when you're having fun.

I lived with Professor Layton until I was twenty-six years old. Alfendi was eleven years old when I fled the nest, and I remember he was extremely upset. The two of us had always been as close as siblings, and as far as he was concerned, I was his older sister. Since there was such an age gap between us, I mothered Alfendi all his life. I tried to take care of him just like the professor did — He was the baby brother I never had. When it came time for me to leave, I had to tell the sweet boy that it was nothing to do with him, or his father. I was long finished college, and had just been hired at one of the grandest restaurants in London. I was also engaged to George, the man who is now my husband, and we had just bought our first house together: a modest town home down the street from the bank where George worked. I remember the professor gently telling Alfendi that "every bird must one day spread its wings"... Then they both saw me off with a kiss and a smile, and told me they would never be far.

And they never were far. I would remain close to the professor and his son throughout my entire life. When my children were born, Alfendi became an uncle, and he became to my children what I had been to him. The professor became a grandfather, and every Sunday I would take my whole family down to his flat, where we would have dinner, reminisce old memories, and most importantly make new ones that would be remembered through all our lives. Professor Layton would play the piano, and we would all sing about emeralds in the sky, just as we did when I was a girl.

But lately things have not been the same as they used to be. Professor Layton is no longer the youthful man with a passion for puzzles he once was. His lust for life has left his eyes. He does not sing like he used to, and for some reason he refuses to play the piano at all. Mostly he just sits in his armchair, the one I used to fall asleep in, and dreams about the way things once were, many, many years ago.

Professor Hershel Layton is nearly eighty-one years old now. I find it hard to believe, as it seems like only yesterday he was travelling the world with Luke, or chasing baby Alfendi around the floor. But it's true what they say about time flying when you're having fun. Professor Layton has lived a long and wonderful life, filled with tears of joy and sadness. He has done great things for the world... And he meant the world to many people, including me.

Tonight I'm going to the professor's flat, but this time my family won't be with me. Luke is coming in from America, and Alfendi will be there as well. It will be a beautiful family reunion of a different kind... And tonight I'm going to try my best to sing the professor a song — a cherished old lullaby, which I'm sure he remembers well.

_Rest your head, close your eyes_  
_Dream of emeralds in the sky_  
_A land bathed in eternal light_

_Dream of worlds far away_  
_Where it never isn't day_  
_For the emeralds shine bright __as the sun in the night_


	3. My Real-life Storybook Hero

**Hey everyone! First of all I'm sorry this is so late! I accidentally deleted the first version I wrote of this off my iPod, and was forced to rewrite the whole thing from scratch. z.****z The version you're about to read is a rewrite of my original oneshot. I decided to change quite a bit of it to accommodate everyone's prompts, and due to the prompts it is quite a bit longer than Luke and Flora's chapters. =)**

**This chapter is told from the POV of Clive, and contains ideas by W0lfWarrior, falconadventurer, SolHikari and a kind girl who wishes to remain anonymous. :) Again I was in a hurry to get this out there, so if it seems rough or just plain horrible, don't worry, I'll get back and edit it soon. ;)**

**Thank you so, so much again everyone for your reviews, PMs, favourites and follows**

**and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

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When I was twelve years old, going on thirteen, the apartment building where my parents and I lived caught fire, and burnt down. I didn't know at the time what started the fire. All I knew was that when I came home from school that day, the building was alight with flames. Black smoke bellowed from the windows, sirens were blaring, and people were screaming. The smell of smoke and cinder hung heavy in the air. When the shock of the initial blow began to fade, the cruel reality dawned on me. My father had been off from work that day, and my mother had been home since three. Both my parents were still inside that building.

I felt like my heart stopped beating at that moment. My mind stopped functioning, and my legs took over. Everyone was running away from the disaster, I ran into the flames. I could have sworn to God I heard my mother's voice amidst the terrified screams of bystanders, and the agonized cries of survivors who watched as everything they knew turned to ash. Her voice called me forward, into the engulfing fire, like a helpless insect being drawn to the light. The voice of a little boy would have joined the cacophony, if it hadn't been for a man in a top-hat standing by.

I was grabbed from behind by that top-hatted man, his hat he appeared to be fighting with to keep from falling off his head. He subdued me under the arms and though I wailed and cried and fought against his grip, he never released his hold on me, no matter how hard I made it for him to hold on.

"My parents are still inside!" I bawled, ramming my small foot into his shin for the umpteenth time in attempt to escape.

"Pull yourself together, boy!" The man slapped me across the face. "There's nothing to be done! Jump back in there, and you'll die too!"

I screamed, pounding at his chest with balled fists. At that moment there was no one I hated more than that man. He was a villain in my childish eyes. He wanted to keep me from entering the building — He wanted to stop me from saving my parents... But as another floor of the building collapsed onto itself, and the remains of the bodies of the fire's victims rolled out on stretchers covered by blinding white sheets, I realized the top-hatted gentleman was crying as well. My first thought was that I had hurt him, but then I realized that was far from the truth. That man had lost someone in the fire, just as I had. He fully understood my pain, and was just trying to save me from suffering the same fate as my parents, and his loved one.

In spite of my attempts to inflict pain on him, the man never withdrew, or even flinched. Instead he pulled me closer, wrapping both his arms around me in a tight embrace. And that time I didn't try to escape. I allowed myself to sob openly then, and the top-hatted man did the same. I buried my head in his shirt and tried to drown out the noise of the chaos around us.

For as long as I live, I will never forget that day. The look of the fire that consumed my whole world. The sadness, the ashes, and the man who saved my life, and comforted me after I had lost everything... Many years after that fateful day, I sought revenge on those who started that fire. I tried to destroy the city where everything I had was once destroyed. With the money left to me by the woman who adopted me after my parents' death, I tried to annihilate London, willfully kidnapping some of the world's leading scientific minds to help me build the ultimate weapon. I was blinded by my anger, and grief over what had been lost... But yet there was still a part deep in my soul that realized I needed help. I knew there was only one man in the world who could free me from my insanity, and in a most confounded, complicated turn of events, I got in contact with one Hershel Layton, hoping he could save me from impending tragedy again, just as he had so many years ago.

The details are labyrinthine, but save me the professor did. The professor stopped me before I did bodily harm to anyone, however I did do severe damage to a large portion of London. And what was done could not be undone. I paid for my crimes, just as I deserved to — I was sent to prison for a sentence of ten years. It could have been a life sentence — It probably _should_ have been a life sentence. But as I hadn't actually killed anyone, they decided ten years was fair.

I can't say the time went by quickly by any definition of the word, but although it's not a place I would want to go back to by any means, the London Detention Centre was not a living hell. My cell was more of a small room than the dark, dungeon-like holes portrayed in police shows, and the meals they served there weren't actually half bad. The staff there were friendly for the most part, though I could have just been lucky to have gotten on their good side, and every month I was allowed to have in one visitor from the outside. Sometimes Puzzlette, better known to some as Granny Riddleton's granddaughter, would come to visit me. The two of us had been good friends ever since she had taken over for her grandmother, and set up her puzzle shack in my "future London". We would usually sit outside under a tree on the detention centre grounds, and she would bring me puzzles we'd gave great fun doing together. Sometimes Spring and Cog, two longtime friends of mine would come to visit. And on one remarkable day, about a year after my incarceration, I was greeted in the visitation room by Professor Layton himself.

It came as the shock of a lifetime when they told me a Professor Hershel Layton was here to see me. I felt shaken to the core when I walked down that narrow corridor I had walked so many times, and rounded the corner to see the top-hatted man sitting there in the chair, waiting for me. I didn't dare ask where he had been all that time; why he hadn't come to see me sooner. My first year in prison felt like an eternity to me, and I figured the professor had forgotten by that time — Either that or I was a none-too-gentle reminder of the events of the previous year. I suppose he needed time to recover before seeing a man so closely linked to his tragedy, if not the grand architect of it all. Though the professor never physically told me why he waited a year before coming to see me.

After that extraordinary first visit, the professor would continue to come. He would meet me outside on the detention centre grounds, or inside in the visitation room nearly every month for the next nine years. He came so regularly that the staff there began to get to know him. Many of the staff members actually came to believe the professor was my father! I'll never forget that one time when one of the desk clerks asked him if I was his son. The professor only laughed and said "In many ways he is".

I don't know why hearing him say those words made me unbelievably happy. I was thirteen years old when I lost my own father. I had an adoptive mother after my parents died, but Constance was actually more the age of a grandmother, and her husband had long passed away. I had always thought of the professor as a father figure of sorts, ever since he held me so tightly at the site of that burning building. After I lost my parents, I often felt lonely, even with Constance around. Whenever I was scared or in a situation I didn't know how to handle, I would often find myself wondering, what would Mom do? What would Dad do? And somewhere in the back of my mind, amidst the memories of chaos and despair, I would remember the man who had comforted me, and wonder what Professor Layton would do.

I remembered the professor as the most soothing of souls. A brilliant and kind gentleman, cool in a crisis and brave, above all else. I had not seen him since the day of the accident, but he had always meant a great deal to me. As a child he was like a hero from a fantasy storybook, larger than life but absolutely real, and someone I should strive to be. To know that we had now grown so close, and to hear that he perhaps thought of me practically as highly as I thought of him seemed to me the greatest honour that anyone in the universe could possibly receive.

When it was finally time for me to be released from prison, I admit I was afraid. Of course I was afraid that the word would not accept me. I had been shut away from society since the time of the _incident_, and now that I was going back, I didn't know how London would react. But I suppose my biggest fear was that the professor and I's friendship would not remain as strong as it used to be. When I was behind bars, and the professor would come in for monthly visitation at the detention centre, I could feel safe in knowing that our relationship was constant. I knew the professor would come on the same day, at the same time every month. I knew we would talk about things: Small talk about the weather, and deep conversation about the world and life as a whole. I knew I could always count on those visits. But I feared that when I was out of prison, and back in society as a free individual, those things would all come to an end.

But you'll be delighted to hear that this wasn't the case. Professor Layton and I remained friends even after I was released. We would not have our scheduled get togethers once every month like we used to do, but instead we were now able see each other any time we desired. I even went on a few trips with the professor, solving mysteries all over England. With our combined puzzle solving genius, there wasn't a case we couldn't crack. The professor helped me to become a philosopher and a philanthropist. He even spent some time teaching at a school I had built in Africa for children who wouldn't normally have a chance at an education. The children there didn't have much interest in the field of archaeology, but there's so much else to be learned from Professor Hershel Layton, I thought that every person deserved at least one lesson from the man in the top-hat.

Professor Hershel Layton was a great man. Never could there be another friend to me like the professor. He was there for me until the end; for friendship, for wisdom, for comfort and emotional support. And now that he's nearing the end of his life, I don't know what I am to do... I suppose the only thing that can be done is to try to keep the memory of my friend alive. Just as I've kept the memory of my parents alive. Just as I've kept the memory of everyone, and everything that has ever been important to me.

Farewell for now, Professor Layton. Be welcomed into Heaven, but realize how much you will be missed on Earth. You have been more to me than you could ever know. Maybe one day I'll have the chance to tell you in person that you were a real-life storybook hero to me.

Rest in peace, my best and truest friend.


	4. My Hersh

**Hey again readers! Can I get a woot woot for late updates?! xD Okay, I know when I wrote the first oneshot of this story, I said I wanted to update every few days. But the thing is, with every character I write for, I'm finding I want to write more and more about them, and lately I just haven't had the time to write 3,000 words in three days. :) **

**I'm sorry to those of you who have left reviews and PMs since the last update. I've been so busy in these past two weeks especially that I haven't had time to reply. The thing I was busy doing is over now (if you watch any channels that broadcast sports, you might have seen me on TV this past weekend ;D) and I promise that I will eventually get around to answering all your messages, and will try to include everyone's prompts in the upcoming chapters. :D**

**Anyway, this next oneshot features Randall\Lando, and is written a bit differently than the chapters so far. Where the other chapters follow the style of a character talking _about _the professor, this one is written in the style of Randall sending his thoughts out _to_ the professor. I just had to do it, guys. •wipes tear• (Incidentally, I can't believe no one requested a chapter about Randall! He's one of my favorite characters from the games. He and Hershel were kind of my OTP a few years back. Just not in a yaoi way, if that makes any sense. xD) **

**And speaking of character requests, I've gotten a few requests for an Emmy chapter, which I definitely plan to do. :D I just have to finish Azran Legacy first so I know what to write. I plan on doing Desmond Sycamore too if I can. ;)**

**And, yeah, I guess I should stop talking now! ㈳3 Thanks again guys for all your support! And keep the prompts coooomiiiing! **

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My friend. Where have the days of digging for treasure gone?

When Alfendi Layton called me today, and told me that his father was sick and bedridden, I have to say I almost didn't believe him. I thought he was playing some kind of cruel April Fools joke on me early, or perhaps he was talking about a different man named Professor Hershel Layton. The last time I saw you, Hershel, you were as healthy as ever. There was not a single thing wrong with you, and for as long as I've known you, there never has been. I didn't understand how a terrible illness could have crept up and nearly taken you so silently, so quickly. But then Alfendi explained that you were not physically ill. The doctor said there was nothing _wrong_ with you; you were just tired, and lacked the power and the will to get up out of bed.

And to hear Professor Hershel Layton did not have the will to get out of bed... You have no idea how difficult that was for me to hear. Even now I almost feel like coming over there tonight, picking you up out of your bed and sticking a shovel in your hand. I want to ask you to come dig with me, just like we did when we were kids. We could fly away together somewhere far into the desert, or take a ship overseas to the site of some ruin just waiting to be discovered. Or we could dig in the backyard, just for old times sake. We don't have to discover anything, Hershel, so long as I can get you moving again.

But the sad reality of it is that you and I are both getting old. No, that's being generous to ourselves. We _are_ old. I have been retired for many years, and have not been on an archaeological expedition in a very, very long time. You and I have practically grown up together, and now it seems we are both reaching the night of our lives. And yet when I think of you, my dear friend Hershel Layton, I still think of the shy little boy I met in my first year of high school.

My Hersh. How many memories have you and I shared? We spent so many days together at St. Burns High School. You were such a good student, and so was I, so long as the class was history. We were in all the same classes together, and I remember the strange looks we used to get whenever we started giggling, or bickering in front of the other kids. The whole school knew we were best friends though, and after a while their prying eyes learned to simply look the other way.

Perhaps my favourite thing about school in those times was the fencing club you and I were both in. I remember when you convinced me to join just so you would have a friend in the club. You didn't like it much when I beat you in our first tournament. Of course you got me back for it soon enough by kicking my butt in the next one! And do you remember when I first got you interested in doing puzzles? How many puzzles did we solve in those days, just for the sake of solving? And do you remember that single tree you, me and Angela used to sit under on Memory Knoll? And how many evenings we spent at my house reading books about archaeology? My dear friend Hershel... Do you remember?

At the time you weren't at all interested in the field of archaeology. But you would always listen to my babbling about buried artifacts and ancient civilizations, and as my best friend you were subject to the brunt of my raving that one day I too would discover something great. And we did discover something great, you, and I. We found what was essentially the door to a lost civilization. We made it through the Akbadain ruins, and were so close to finding the treasure I had always been searching for... But you were the only one who would make it through the door that day, Hershel.

For as long as I live, the sickening feeling of dangling in midair above a bottomless pit, being held up by only my best friend's quaking arm, will forever haunt my memory. Shots of intense pain ran up my own arm, and I was certain it had been wrenched from its socket from having my entire bodyweight suspended by one hand. You told me to give you my other hand, but I was stupid and refused to let go of the mask I'd so foolishly brought with us, choosing instead to give it to you so it wouldn't be lost to the ruins... The sight of my best friend disappearing into the distance as I fell to what I thought would be my death, still plagues my dreams at night, even after all these years.

In a way I did die that day. I know I had angels around me when I landed in a stream at the bottom of the cavern, and was rescued by a kindly local farmer who took me in. However, I did not get away completely unharmed. A severe blow to the head left me with amnesia that caused me to forget everything I knew: My parents, my house in Stansbury, and my friends who had given up praying for my safe return. Eighteen years later some of my memories were restored by a peculiar character of a man donning a feather boa and mask. He told me of my past in Stansbury, and of the people I'd left behind. But the man manipulated my mind, and told me lies about my friends, leading me to believe you'd all betrayed me. I became enthralled with the idea that somehow, someway, I would make you all pay for your sins against me.

And using the Mask of Chaos I found so many years ago, I became the Masked Gentleman, performing dark miracles on the city of Monte d'Or. My goal was to destroy the entire city my deceitful friend Henry had built. But you Hershel Layton, it was you who stopped me at the final moment before all would have been lost. And the most ironic part was, Descole told me that Hershel Layton would only let me down. He couldn't have told me a bigger lie about you, Hershel. He couldn't have been any more wrong.

All you ever did was look out for me. When we were in our teenage years you were calm, and looked at life with all the rationality of a mature adult. I was a reckless, headstrong youth with a burning desire to be in the spotlight, or at least to escape the shadow of my overly-successful father. You were level-headed, and I had my head in the clouds, or should I say deep underground at the site of some archaeological find or another. We were like a seesaw: I would push you to your limit, and you would keep me on the ground, and neither one of us could work as well without the other. You were always the one I would bring along with me on my escapades. Sometimes you would come willingly; sometimes I would practically have to drag you kicking and screaming! But Hershel, you would always come with me, because you knew I couldn't do it alone.

My dear Hersh, you protected me until you couldn't possibly protect me any longer. When I fell into what we thought was a bottomless pit in the Akbadain ruins, I know everyone blamed you for my death. I can't imagine how it must have been for you, living with that guilt for all those years. You said you left Stansbury to move to London shortly after, because you couldn't live with the grief of losing your best friend, combined with the agony of living in a town where everyone thought you were to blame. In the end Hersh, you came through for me, just like you always did. It was you who made me realize that the people around me, the friends I had wanted so badly to hurt for the terrible things they had done, had never intended to hurt me. And when I was about to fall again, this time to what surely would have been my death, it was you who caught me, and with the help of our "brother" Henry, you pulled me to safety, and back into the arms of my friends. If it hadn't been for you and Henry, Hershel, I wouldn't be alive today.

I remember when I found out that you no longer lived in town. I swear I nearly broke down sobbing in front of everyone! All right, that may be a wee bit of an exaggeration, but I was very sad to hear that life could not to continue as it was when we were kids. As far away as our fair city of Monte d'Or is from London however, you still managed to come visit us often enough. Three months after our reunion, you came back to Monte d'Or to be a best man in Angela and I's wedding. Less than a year later you returned when our daughter, Penelope, was born. Do you remember I asked you if you would come live in the mansion with Angela, Penelope, Henry and I? I would continue to ask you that same question every single time you came to stay with us, which was dozens of times throughout the years. Unfortunately your position at Gressenheller kept you from being able to pack up and leave London at the drop of a hat. I would have to be satisfied with your annual, or if I was lucky biannual visits to our desert town.

And your visits were always well worth the wait. It's hilarious to think we were still riding Monte d'Or's roller-coaster when we were well into our seventies! And I went to London a few times myself to listen in on your archaeology lectures at the university. The first time I did it I didn't tell you I was coming — I just made my way in like I was a student and took a seat at the front of the lecture hall. And boy were you shocked to see me! I gave you such a surprise that your hair probably turned a shade greyer under that top-hat you used to wear! The lecture hall erupted with laughter, and you made me promise that from then on I would call before making any visits!

But the night of many lives come swiftly and without warning, and capture so many of us by surprise. The last time I spoke with you Hershel, you said you weren't up to travelling all the way to Monte d'Or. At the time you happened to have a cold, but I admit I did find it odd that you were letting a minor illness get in the way of our yearly get-together, and even odder was the fact that you didn't ask to set a later date... After speaking to Alfendi today however, I'm afraid it all makes sense to me now. Life is full of mysteries, but the end of life isn't one of them. There is nothing mysterious at all about death. The time and cause of our own we shall not know 'til it happens, but the fact that it's going to happen one day is something all humans know.

There is nothing we can do about this hard truth, except to try our bests to do as much as we can in the time we have. And I know, Hershel Layton, that you have used your time wisely. You're an archaeology great, a renowned Gressenheller professor, and a better puzzle solver than your lifelong best friend. But if what you and I have always said is true: that every puzzle has an answer, then tell me Hershel, what is the answer to the Earth's greatest mystery of time?

Oh where, oh where have the days of digging for treasure gone? How could our youth have been stolen right out from under our noses? Why is it that all we had to do was blink and suddenly our childhood was gone? When I was younger, all I wanted to do was to find _treasure_. Now that I am old, I realize that in those days I possessed the greatest treasure a person could have: All the time in the world, and people to share it with. I know that's what awaits you, Hershel, when sleep finally comes to your soul, and though I will miss you I can take comfort in the knowledge that we may not be separated for long. For we are not people who were meant to be separated. Death tried to tear us apart once, but we beat it... Didn't we Hersh? You may be going away from me now, but I'll be back to pester you soon.

When that day will be though, not you or I know, for no one has solved the great mystery of time.


	5. My Teacher

**Hey guys! I wouldn't imagine anyone's still reading this after my impromptu over-one-month hiatus. XD I really didn't plan to take that long at all, but I ended up having some major difficulties with the end of Arianna's chapter (the death of my own pet has made the thing with Loosha really hard to write about... Dx). I finally decided it was time to take a break with her chapter, and get started on Emmy's instead. :D ...So here it is! I really hope you guys like it! And as usual, I'M SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT!**

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What can I say about Professor Hershel Layton? That he was a good man? Of course I could say that, but that could be said about a lot of people. That he was brilliant; a complete and utter genius who "left no puzzle unsolved"? Well, that could easily be said, but it's horribly impersonal. Everyone knows Professor Layton was a gentleman, and was arguably more knowledgeable than most of England put together. Everyone knows he once wore a top hat, and traveled the globe solving mysteries, doing things most people could only imagine in their wildest dreams. But how many people know Professor Layton like I once knew Professor Layton? His son, obviously, and a chosen few who had the privilege of living out the years with him. The time I spent with the professor was comparably short to some, but the three years I spent working as his assistant were some of the most incredible years of my life. They provided me with memories that would last a lifetime, preserved as vividly in my mind as pictures in a photo album, reflecting precious moments from the past. And no matter how much has happened since those times, I know I will always cherish those memories.

The first time I laid eyes on the professor with the top hat, I was only nineteen years old. I had been accused of a petty crime: stealing the wallet of a thirteen year old boy. Of course I would never have dreamed of doing such a thing, but the police officer was adamant that I had done it... The professor just happened to be walking by at the moment, and he witnessed my "confrontation" with the policeman. Seeing I was at my wit's end trying to prove to the officer that I was innocent, the professor decided to step in and lend a hand. With his immensely powerful intellect, he was able to deduce that I did not commit the crime. In reality, I had been framed by none other than the young victim himself, and was being used as a pawn in his plan to buy the fashionable new shoes he absolutely needed to gain acceptance from the other kids.

"If you spend your entire life trying to fit in with others, you'll never belong anywhere." I remember hearing the professor say as he walked the young con artist out of Scotland Yard. There was something about those words that touched me. They were so full of wisdom, yet so simple and sincere that even a child could understand them. I knew at that moment that a man who spoke such wisdom must be more than just a perfect English gentleman in a top hat. And to think he called _me_ a lady! Me with my anything but ladylike temper! Me with my tomboyish mannerisms — The girl whose only dolly growing up was a sad looking thing she had chopped all the hair off, and lovingly referred to as "Bob". The professor came to my assistance even after he'd witnessed me screaming my head off at the Inspector, where most people would have written me off as a criminal and headed for the hills. The professor left that day without even telling me his name, but I made a promise to myself that one day I _would_ see him again.

Seven years later my wish came true! But a lot had changed since the last time I'd seen Professor Layton. My uncle had been promoted to leader of a very important secret military organization... I had always known Uncle Leon was a member of Targent, ever since he took me in after my parents died of polio. I knew he was an archaeologist, and that his organization was dedicated to the research of the Azran, an ancient civilization with intelligence and technology far superior to that of the modern human race. As a girl, I didn't understand what their mission entailed. But as I got older, I suppose it was inevitable that I would start to work for them as well. I wasn't an archaeologist, but my investigative skills were keen, and my uncle taught me to fight, in case the need should ever arise. I became an undercover agent for Targent, acting as a sort of spy for the group, sleuthing out any information that may be of value to them. My uncle would send me on various missions, all of different degrees of pertinence and interest. Then one day, when he believed I was ready, he assigned me to what he said was the most important task I would ever take on...

He said I was to go undercover to gather information about a young archaeology professor named Hershel Layton. It seemed Professor Layton was a gifted archaeologist — A brilliant man whom, despite his short career, had landed himself in the papers several times for his extraordinary discoveries. Uncle Leon felt that, if given the chance, the professor may just stumble upon the greatest archaeological secret known to mankind: The treasure of the Azran. To prevent this from happening, he wanted me to spend time with the professor; to keep a close eye on him, find out what he knew, and if he should ever get too close to the Azran civilization, to report him to Targent so they could put an end to his interference... To do this, he said I would need to take on the highly confidential role of Professor Layton's assistant.

Of course I was happy about this. I had been dreaming for seven years about meeting up with the professor again. To get to work as his assistant was better than anything I could ever have asked for. But having to do it as a Targent agent sort of put a damper on things. As sad as it was for me to believe, I knew that if Targent was keeping tabs on the professor, it could only mean impending doom for him. My uncle and his organization were willing to stop at nothing to achieve their goal, and were prepared to use whatever force they deemed necessary to get to the Azran legacy first. They had already demonstrated that they were more than capable of silencing anyone who threatened to get in their way. Only three months ago, they had murdered the wife and nine-year-old daughter of an archaeologist who refused to work for their cause. I knew that if I were to uncover anything about the professor they considered undesirable, they would not hesitate to terminate him. But if for now it was up to me to keep Professor Layton at bay, and away from the Azran treasure, maybe I could protect him. I had made up my mind that I was going to do whatever I could to help Uncle Leon and his cause, and while I was at it, I was going to be the best assistant to the professor that I could possibly be.

The three years I spent with Professor Layton and his "apprentice" Luke, went by in a blur. The professor was all that I imagined him to be, and probably more than Uncle Leon ever expected! I thought as a university professor's assistant I would be filing paperwork, keeping track of appointments, tidying up around the office and other mundane things a university professor's assistant might be hired to do. I never would have thought that on my first day on the job I would be journeying to a picturesque town by the lake to meet a boy who foretold the end of the world, a girl who was nicknamed the calamity witch, and solve the mystery of a giant specter who terrorized the town by night, but only when the fog was thick... I was with Professor Layton when he made his first huge discovery that put him on the front page of perhaps every newspaper in the world. From then on in, I would never simply say I worked for an archaeology professor when people asked about my job! For they would never understand just how extraordinary my job was until they heard the name of my extraordinary employer.

I was with Professor Layton when he found the City of Ambrosia, and I helped him learn the truth behind Ambrosia's eternal life. The professor taught me to solve brain teasers, to the point where I thought there was no puzzle I couldn't solve. I remember I used to get so upset whenever I would get an answer wrong, but the professor would tell me I should never give into frustration, because in order to find the solution to any sort of problem, it was essential for me to keep a clear head. He insisted that one cannot think rationally unless they remain focused and calm, and he would tell me I should never feel ashamed about getting a puzzle wrong, because not only can we learn from our mistakes, but our mistakes remind us that we are not always as smart as we think we are, and that there will always be room for improvement. He told me that our failures were only improvements of character in the long run. He never knew that the reason why I would get so flustered when I couldn't solve a puzzle was _him_. Professor Layton taught me to think logically so I could tackle any puzzle that came my way... And when I was faced with a puzzle that was too hard for me, I felt like I was letting him down.

The professor never would have said I let him down, though. Whether I was solving puzzles, taking pictures to aid our investigations, or wrestling the thugs we seemed to encounter almost everywhere we went, the professor was always very grateful for the work I did. In those days, it didn't feel like we were at home very often at all, but when we were in London, and the professor was teaching at Gressenheller University, even what I would have viewed before as boring, mundane tasks, the professor always managed to make interesting for me. Braving his office every day was an adventure in itself! I won't refrain from telling you it was an absolute disaster in there, and it was impossible to clean, too, as it was so overflowing with historical _knowledge_, ancient artifacts, and things that _might_ be ancient artifacts, there was never any room on the shelves. Luke and I used to rib him about it so badly, I can't believe he put up with us! The professor never expressed any desire to clean up his workplace, however. It was like it was a little weird quirk about his personality — A tribute to the philosophy that no human being was perfect, no matter how brilliant they were!

The professor truly was a man of the strongest moral character. In all the days I spent with him, I never once knew him to behave as anything but a gentleman. I was fortunate enough to have been there with him through some of the most important events of his life. I was there in Monte D'or when he solved the mystery of the Masked Gentleman, and I watched as he was reunited with his best friend from childhood. The most incredible journey I would embark on with Professor Layton, however, was one that would take he, Luke, and I around the entire globe. It was a dangerous expedition, and only I knew just how dangerous it was... When Professor Layton got the letter from Professor Sycamore, I knew my time as his assistant had almost come to an end. It seemed at long last the professor was going after the Azran legacy. I had done my best to steer him away from it; I had not told him anything I knew. I had done everything I could to keep Targent a secret, and buried those secrets so deep within me I had almost forgotten myself that I was one of them... I was not really Professor Layton's assistant. It was only a mission I was on, just like so many others I had completed, and I knew that when Uncle Leon caught the professor, for it was inevitable that he would catch him, I would have to retain complete loyalty to him. After all, I owed it to him. Uncle Leon was the only family I had in the world...

Fortunately for us all, that time would not come until several months into our investigation. Before I took my final bow as Professor Layton's assistant, I got to travel the world with him aboard the airship Bostonius. And during that time, I got to experience so many wonderful things I never had before. I got to play on the beach, if only for a brief time, with the professor and Luke, Professor Sycamore and Aurora. I got to watch a friendly rivalry unfold between the two professors, and I witnessed Professor Layton put his great comedic plan into action to make the chief of Phong Gi laugh. Spending the months together, sharing the sights, and smells, and sounds of so many new places, sleeping under the same airship-roof for so many nights... I got to see sides of my friends I somehow never saw before, and I truly believe we became closer during those months than we had ever been. I knew now that I was mistaken in thinking Uncle Leon was the only family I had in the world... And I was grateful for every minute of that time we had together.

When Targent finally did catch up with Professor Layton, I did my duty, just as I was always meant to do. I forced the professor to hand over the Azran key — The one that the five of us had worked so hard to create. As I held the knife to Luke's throat, and heard him beg for me to stop, as if he thought it was only a joke like the ones I used to play on him in happier times, the tears began to form in my eyes, and spill down my face. All I could do was ask myself, why did it have to end this way? Why did I have to threaten the life of a little boy, the one who I had watched grow up for the past three years? The one who had been as close as a brother to me ever since my first adventure with Professor Layton? How could things have changed so much? Or was this the real me, and all this time I had only been hiding under the facade of the woman I wished I could be...? When the pain became unbearable, I finally broke down. I screamed that everything I had done was for Uncle Leon, hoping, praying to God that they might understand... But the deed had been done. My mission was complete. I had betrayed Professor Layton, and it was too late for things to go back to the way they once were.

That would not be the last time I would see the professor and his apprentice. "For old times' sake", I wanted to finish what we had started with the Azran people. To die alongside Professor Layton and Luke was an honour I didn't deserve. And although we were revived, and made it out of the temple alive, I still feel I came as close to redeeming myself as I could... If only I could truly have made up for what I'd done.

The professor said he forgave me. He said he recognized the bond I shared with my uncle, and he understood that I had a duty to him. He said that I could stay, and continue to work as his assistant if I so desired. But the professor didn't understand I had a responsibility to him as well. He was the one who had helped me; the one who had shown me so much, and taught me so many things... He had given me someone to rely on, to trust, and I know he trusted in me... I couldn't possibly stay, and pretend like nothing at all had happened, after I had betrayed the person who had done so much for me... Professor Layton respected my decision. Before I left, I threw my arms around him. He thanked me, and I sobbed.

I have not seen Professor Layton since the day I resigned as his assistant, but I've kept up to date with all his discoveries in the London, and international newspapers. It has been a very long time since his name has graced the headlines of any paper, however. He is not the talk of London as he once was, but I heard it through the university grapevine that he has been bedridden for several weeks now. A part of me wishes I could go see him, but after so many years, he surely wouldn't recognize me, and I don't know what the surprise might do to him. Instead I suppose I'll just have to go and pay my respects when all is said and done. I won't show my face around any of his friends. They don't need to know who I am, or who I once was. And though they may all have cherished memories of that famous archaeologist, many of them have not known Professor Layton as I have known Professor Layton. I hope the professor sincerely believed that I never meant to hurt him... I suppose I will never get to tell him myself, but it was an honour and a privilege to have known such a wonderful man.


	6. My Saving Grace

**Hey there readers! I am very pleased to announce that I have FINALLY completed Arianna's oneshot! *triumphant music* This chapter has undergone a ton of changes since I first set out to write it over a month ago, and now that I'm finally finished with it, I don't know if you guys will like it or not. It's the most different of all the chapters so far, in the way that it basically tells the story of a whole game (Last Specter/Specter's Flute/Devil's Flute) from one of the character's points of view. (in this case Arianna's. C:) Because of the style of the chapter, it is not ****completely**** dedicated to Professor Layton, as the other chapters have been. Instead it deals more with what Arianna felt and was dealing with during the events of Last Specter, which was touched on, but not necessarily described in detail in the 4th PL game. =) I hope you guys don't mind that I've done it this way, but if you do, feel free to skip over this chapter! I promise I have more on the way. xP Arianna has just always been a very beautiful character to me, and I've always wanted to do a fanfiction based on the 4th game from her point of view, so when the lovely Em suggested I do a shot on Misthallery, I decided to kill two turds with one stone. (We don't hurt animals here! :D)**

** Anyway, somebody should really tell me to stop rambling before my stories... xP As always, thank you so much for reading! I forever appreciate your kind words and all your support. :)**

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I had a wonderful childhood.

I did. My mother died when I was very young, and I don't remember much about her. But I did have my father and my brother, Tony, and our friend Loosha who came to visit us so often she may as well have been part of the family. We lived at Barde Manor, and had a large property. We had a beautiful garden where my Papa loved to work, and our land stretched all the way to the lake where my brother and I used to play with Loosha. We were one of Misthallery's wealthiest families, with a mansion way up on Highyard Hill. But I didn't think money ever meant anything to us. Other children used to ask me what it was like to be so rich. I didn't know any different, but I didn't suppose having money made us happier than the average family. I used to tell the kids when they asked that what made us so jovial was something much better than wrinkly paper with pictures of old people on it. We were healthy; we weren't hungry; we had each other, and that was what made us happy.

And of course, we also had the townspeople. My father used to throw the grandest parties, sometimes for special occasions, sometimes for no reason at all! I met one of my dearest childhood friends at one of those parties. His name was Luke Triton, and he was the nine-year-old son of Clark Triton, who was the mayor of Misthallery at that time. The two of us became very close, and for a short while, we were practically inseparable...

But then one day, I came down with a cough. We thought it was a cold at first, but it persisted, and got worse... Then one afternoon when I was down by the lake playing with Loosha, I found I was having incredible difficulty breathing. My father took me to a doctor, and within a week my test results came back: I was suffering from a rare lung disease —A disease that would cause my lungs to collapse over a period of time. I remember the doctor calling me and Papa to his office. The nurse was examining me in the other room when I overheard the doctor telling Papa I was not expected to live past my twelfth birthday... Two weeks later, Papa fell over a cliff in our manor's garden and died. The chief of police said it was suicide.

And that was how my wonderful childhood came to an end. When my father died, none of the townsfolk even cared. As I knelt beside the white sheet that covered his dead body, shattered from the fall, I could hear them all whisper, as if they thought I wasn't there. I heard them say "good riddance" and that he deserved to die. They said that he was selfish, and only cared about "financial gain". They acted as if they didn't even know he was a father. Did they think he didn't care about his ten-year-old daughter and eight-year-old son? I didn't understand how people I had known all my life could be so cruel. I vowed to hate the people of Misthallery for the remainder of my life, locking myself away in Barde Manor, and refusing to leave the grounds. Tony and I let go of the staff, and soon it was only the two of us, completely alone in the world.

It was a difficult time for both my brother and I, but somehow, miraculously, we were able to survive on our own. Though Papa and the servants were gone, the manor still had all the comforts of home. Of course, Papa had left us a great deal of money, and whenever we ran out of amenities, Tony would simply go to the market and buy some more... But the people of Misthallery had no idea what we were going through. Whenever Tony would go into town, he would hear the townsfolk saying awful things about me, just as they had done to my father. It seemed fate wanted to knock me down, and reduce me to nothing before I left the earth. For whenever someone from town would speak ill of me, a grizzly red mark would appear on one of the walls of their house. It wasn't long before the specter of Misthallery folklore and legend began to appear, and wreak havoc on our town, destroying every building which possessed this so-called witch's mark. To the townspeople, I became known as the calamity witch, and was feared throughout Misthallery as the little girl who called forth the specter to do her evil bidding, and have revenge on everyone who ever did her wrong.

Never in my life had I been so scared; not when I was diagnosed with my illness, not when Papa had passed away. For when these things had happened I knew there was not a thing in the world that I could do... Now it was entirely up to me to decide whose lives would be destroyed, and whose would be spared. Of course, I didn't want to ruin anyone's lives, but I had no say in the matter of who chose to speak ill of me, no say at all. Still I was was responsible for the horrors that would befall them. I was even afraid to have Tony around me, but I never told him. I would have sooner suffered in fear alone than let my little brother know I was afraid. After all, I was the older sibling. I was supposed to be taking care of us both... At that time in my life I didn't know what else to do. As long as I was around, that demonic specter would be also, bringing destruction and despair to all those who did me wrong. The only thing I could do was stay in the manor, and wait for the end of my life to come... And I would have been content with waiting there for the rest of my life, if it hadn't been for a stranger from out of town — A gentleman who was adept at solving puzzles... And occasionally saving lives on the side.

His name was Professor Hershel Layton, and he was an old friend of my friend Luke's father. He and the mayor of Misthallery had met during their days as students at Gressenheller University, and even then Clark Triton recognized Layton as a man with a keen mind for solving mysteries. The two men hadn't seen each other in years, but even after so much time had passed, Clark wrote to Layton, and asked for his assistance in cracking the case of Misthallery's illusive monster... Or so the professor was led to believe. I would learn after all was said and done that Luke was actually the one who contacted Professor Layton. It seemed at the same time as I was, Luke was also experiencing a period of great fear and loneliness. At only ten years of age, it seemed to him as if the world was ending, and he believed that it was the specter's fault. He had heard stories from his father about the great puzzle solver Hershel Layton, and he thought that if anyone could solve the mystery of the specter, and the calamity witch who summoned it with the accursed Specter's Flute, he could.

It was "the duty of every gentleman to help a friend in need", so Professor Layton did come to Misthallery, and when he came, everyone knew he was here. Tony heard the townsfolk talking at the market — They said that a man in a top hat had been asking questions all over town. Some said that he had helped them solve puzzles they had been struggling with for months. Some said he was suspicious, while others claimed he'd come to save the town. When I finally met Professor Layton in person, of only one thing I was sure: The man must have been a genius — It showed in the way he carried himself. From the confident yet humble aura that surrounded him as he entered the room, to the elegant high silk top hat he kept balanced perfectly on his head. When I saw that Luke was with him, I knew in my heart that I could trust him... He said he wanted to talk to me, but I didn't know what evil forces it might have disturbed. I was the calamity witch, after all... And I didn't want anything to happen to him.

Still the professor was not willing to let this minor setback stop him. He turned Misthallery inside out on his search for the truth behind the specter, leaving no stone unturned like a proper detective, solving every puzzle that came his way. As Luke could predict where the specter would appear, he went with the professor to help with the search. And there was also a woman with them who was very kind to me. She loved taking pictures and was incredibly smart — I think she was Professor Layton's assistant. Their investigation led the three of them all over town, from North Ely to Grand Bridge Street, through Misthallery's many canals. They conversed with all the townspeople, trying to gather as much knowledge as they could. At one point they even encountered the Black Ravens of the black market. Jeremy, or should I say, "Crow", gave them quite a hard time of it at first, the rascal... But after he'd had his fun, and the Ravens believed they were trustworthy, Crow was willing to disclose some valuable information: Information, of course, that led them straight to me, and the flute my father had purchased off the black market six months prior to his death...

My flute was called the Specter's Flute, or so Crow had told Papa when he bought it. He said it got its name from an ancient wives tale in which a young girl played a magic flute to summon a giant specter. I had known this all along, but the story didn't scare me. I picked up the flute and started playing it one day, and I found that my friend Loosha reacted to its music unlike anything I'd ever seen before. She seemed quite smitten with its beautiful, haunting sound, and would come to the surface of the water to meet me every time she heard its song. Whenever Loosha was frightened, all I would have to do was play the flute and she would calm down. When something began to bother Loosha every evening at nightfall, causing her to flee into town, I would play her song on the Specter's Flute and she would come home to me... I told this to Professor Layton and his companions... They were the only ones I ever told it to. They were the only ones outside my family to ever see Loosha as the peaceful, docile creature she was when she was with me... Just by watching us together, the professor could tell that the bond we shared was deeper than just the friendship between a child and her pet. I would have done anything for Loosha, and she would have done anything for me, and it was this fact that enabled the professor to solve the enigma of what the specter truly was.

When Loosha would flee into town every night, she was going to protect me from another force that was at work, one that was not controlled by witches or dark magic. There was a man who was searching for something in our town — Something Misthallery possessed that everyone in the world wanted, but none of the townsfolk even knew existed. Archaeologists believed it was a city beneath the earth made entirely of gold and precious stones, and the man was trying to dig for it, going to extreme measures to discover it and claim it for his own. But Loosha was the only one who knew of the Golden Garden's true nature. She was an ancient sea creature born to the waters of an ancient sea, and she knew that the garden was not a wealthy city, but an ancient oasis underground that had been left virtually untouched since the dawn of civilization. And she knew that the air in the garden was still as pure as the day the earth was made... And she thought that if I were to breath the air, that I might be healed. She couldn't let the man with the drilling machines claim the garden because she wanted me to go there... So that I could live.

The man with the machines would only go out at night so that the people of Misthallery wouldn't see him. Those who did see him would have their vision blurred by a fog emit by the excavating machines, and their eyes would be met with a monster rampaging through the town, making a terrible mess everywhere it went. The professor explained, however, that what they were really seeing was Loosha trying to fight off the machines. And when the houses were being destroyed, it was actually the machines that were wrecking them, and not a giant specter at all. The witch's mark, the professor told us, was also fictional, but actually completely unrelated to the specter. The marks were hand painted by none other than my brother Tony, whose only intention was to frighten the people who had bad-mouthed me. When I heard, this I regret not telling Tony how scared I was of the calamity witch. Like Loosha, all he had wanted to do was protect me, but the calamity witch myth may have continued forever if the professor hadn't arrived and told Misthallery the truth.

To say I was thankful to Professor Layton could never express the immense gratitude I felt. To hear I was not cursed was like being reborn as a new human being, one that was free to live a normal life and only fret about what people thought of her to a human extent... But despite the intense joy in my heart, the same old shadow of sorrow lingered that I was still the same person I had always been. I was still the same little girl with a whispery voice because I couldn't breathe well enough to force it out. I was still pail and thin with dark circles under my eyes, whether they were from my illness or staying up late at night worrying that I was the calamity witch. My father was still gone, and the townspeople still hated me. I was still Arianna, and I was not reborn.

But thanks to Professor Layton, and Luke, and Emmy, and Crow and his friends, I was given a chance — A real chance for a new life. But Loosha... It was Loosha who made the ultimate sacrifice. She used every last ounce of her strength throwing her body into the dam, over and over until it broke down. She flooded the town, short-circuiting the excavating machines, and draining almost all of the water from the lake. And with the lake drained, the door to the Golden Garden was finally revealed to us. The professor solved one final puzzle to open the gate of solid gold and precious gems, and soon we were in the middle of Loosha's homeland, which was not anything like what archaeologists or the man with the machines envisioned it to be. The Golden Garden was a paradise... All it could have been described as was paradise. It was like the Garden of Eden, a heaven on earth, with trees unlike any kind I had seen before that reached all the way to the ceiling of the cavern, and sunlight that flooded in impossibly through the roof, which had once been the bottom of a lake. The lake in the Golden Garden was completely different from Misthallery's lake. It was clearer than a tropical ocean, and as still as if it were made of glass. The air in the garden tasted almost sweet, perhaps due to the aroma of the delicate flowers that bloomed there, or perhaps it was simply what pure air tasted like. Loosha gave everything so I could breathe that air... But the injuries she sustained from breaking down the dam proved fatal. Once she knew that I was safe in her homeland, surrounded by friends, Loosha took her final breath in the crystal water where she was born. Loosha gave her life, so that I could live mine.

I am fifty-seven years old now, and I feel I am still as healthy as I was when I was twelve. I still live in Misthallery, though our foggy little town has seen a lot of changes since I was a girl. The Golden Garden still exists, however, and it still remains the same as it was the day Professor Layton discovered it; the same as it was at the dawn of the universe, except for the tiny house the people of Misthallery built for me to live in for that year while I was recovering. The town decided to keep it there in honour of a noble sea creature, who sacrificed her life so her friend could find the garden. It has been forty-six years now since Loosha's death, and I have lived every day of those forty-six years in gratitude to she, and Professor Layton, for saving my life. For life is such a precious thing — It is the only thing we, as human beings, truly own. Though we hate to admit it, all our land and wealth and cities of gold amount to nothing, as these earthly possessions are only bought on borrowed time. Life is the only thing we truly have, but in an instant it can be snuffed out with no warning or reason at all. The sooner we realize this, the better our lives will be, as we will come to appreciate every breath and every heartbeat, because we know it means we still posses the most precious thing an animal or human being can own.

What started as the talk of London has now reached all the way to Misthallery: The famous Professor Layton may very well be on death's door... And that is why I am writing all this down today. I have always wanted to create a tribute of some sort to some wonderful events that took place in the early days of my life. I put it off for so many years, for no legitimate reason... I thought about waiting until the fiftieth anniversary, which, as hard as it may be to believe, is now a mere four years away. Upon receiving news of the professor, however, I decided there really is no time like the present. For nobody, not even the people we think are invincible, are immortal, and even the saints we believe should live forever must die one day. And all that will be left of them is their bones, which will turn to dust, and their memory, which their friends on earth must keep alive until the day _they_ die, and so the cycle continues.

But I do believe there is a place where the soul lives on for eternity. Its beauty puts even the Golden Garden to shame, and so many whom I love are already there. There isn't a doubt in my mind that Professor Hershel Layton will go to that place they call paradise. May the angels welcome him into their dwelling place, and may he be reunited with all the loved ones he has lost. And may he also see Loosha. I pray that she has been welcomed into that place as well. And I pray that when he sees her, he'll remember Misthallery, and the little girl who was so grateful to him for saving her life. I hope Professor Layton and Loosha both know that after all this time, I haven't forgotten what they did for me. I hope they both realize that they were my saving grace.

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_**For Pia**_

_**I love you.**_


	7. My Brother

**Hey guys! Do you remember this fanfic? I know it's been two months or so since I've updated this story, which is the longest length of time it's ever been. I'd like to apologize to everyone for the massive delay on this chapter. Personal reasons once again prohibited me from writing for a while. I promise I'm back now, though, and the next chapter (featuring none other than the professor's son Alfendi!) is already underway. :)**

**This chapter is told from the POV of Desmond Sycamore/Simon Foster/Jean Descole, who I have to admit I have been ****_hugely_**** obsessing over since I played Azran Legacy in April. :D I've always loved Descole, but after playing Azran Legacy and learning Desmond Sycamore's whole story I just fell ten times more madly in love with him, and all the heated passion and purpose behind his character! *sqees fangirlishly* ** **So yeah, I really hope I've done him justice!**

**P.S., I am not really a violent person. Descole can be though. 0oO XD**

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I must say, when I was younger, I wouldn't have thought I would live to be eighty-five years old. No, I never really thought about it, but when I was living for revenge since the time I was old enough to comprehend what revenge was, I didn't expect I had the highest quality of life to look forward to, nor that I would want to live that long.

And then there was my brother. He was so young when he was adopted, he didn't remember anything about what we had been through. He didn't remember our parents being taken by the Targent Agency, and so he had no reason to resent that foul organization. He didn't remember being anyone but Hershel Layton, and so he was free to live a normal life. He grew up and went to school. He had many friends, and parents who loved him. He began his career as an archaeology professor at Gressenheller University; he fell in love and would have been married, if fate hadn't wrestled it from him. His life was complete and full, and he had so much to live for.

I cannot say I often wonder, as things are the way they are... They _were_ the way they _were_, and perhaps the way they were meant to be. But it would be a lie to say the thought has never crossed my mind of how things would have been different had we been adopted together.

I was adopted shortly after my brother was. The couple had one older daughter who was away at university when I went to live with them. The family was very gracious to me — They treated me like a son, which was more than I deserved, as I was not mentally capable of acknowledging them as my parents, for I knew who my real parents were. For seven years I called Leon and Rachel Bronev "father" and "mother". I couldn't bring myself to forget my real family, and my childhood in the small yellow house we lived in in the English countryside, simply because they changed my name and said I was their son now. My name was the solitary connection to my family I was able to let go of, knowing I had willingly given it to my brother in order to ensure he found a home. Theodore, as I would continue to think of him as regardless until we would meet again many years later when we were both well into our thirties, was only three years old when our parents were abducted. He was practically a baby on mama's knee, and when we found ourselves alone without a mama or a daddy, it soon became dolefully evident to me that the mere love of a seven-year-old brother would not suffice for him. As hard as I tried to keep my brother with me, I always knew that one day it would all come to an end... When the Laytons came along and heard we were both up for adoption, they said they wanted the little boy named Hershel, because they heard say he was extraordinarily clever — A gifted child. If they took me, I feared to think what would happen to my brother. He would end up in an orphanage, if not alone and starving to death. As intelligent as I was for a seven-year-old boy, I had no plan that would allow us to stay together. All I could come up with was to pretend my brother's name was Hershel so that he could be adopted instead of me. When I let go of his hands in the doorway of the little house we had lived in our entire lives as a family, and stood perfectly still as I watched him be driven away in the Laytons' car, I remember thinking that would be the last time I would ever see him... It is unfortunate that by the time we would meet up again over thirty years later, fate had taken us in different directions, and shaped us into the men we had become.

When I look back now, it's no wonder things turned out the way they did for me. When my brother was with me, I focused all of my attention on caring for him. On the night that he was adopted, I remember feeling as though I had lost all purpose in life: a feeling of utter, crushing loneliness, as if I was the only one left in the world as I knew it. In a way, I was the only one left. I cried all night that first night alone in the house, and by the morning I'd realized I did still have something to live for: I needed to get revenge on the ones who had stolen everything from me. First Targent for taking my parents and tearing our family apart; then the Azran civilization for being the root of all Targent's evil. I knew that both would require me to become prominent in the field of archaeology. From that day forward I threw myself into its study, making use of my father's books that had been left behind in his office. On my quest for revenge, I unintentionally became an archaeological prodigy by the time high school was upon me. To take down Targent, however, archaeology was only the beginning, the framework, the preliminary of the training I would have to subject myself to. I went to university for sciences, and developed a knack for inventing and building machines. I studied the art of hand-to-hand combat, and trained myself until I was confident that I could come out victorious in any skirmish. I worked my body and mind until I had reached the peak of humans' physical, and mental abilities... perhaps to the point of exhaustion. To overcome Targent was to sacrifice everything. There was a time in my life when I barely felt human at all, but like a machine built for war, whose only purpose was to destroy...

_She_ was the only one who could make my feelings of emptiness disappear. She was the goodness that was granted to me, my ray of hope for a life of happiness after a lifetime of bitterness. And though after all these years I still can hardly bare to say her name, Louisa was a saviour to me. If only for a short time, she allowed me to live for a purpose other than revenge... Shortly after we were married, we were blessed with the most beautiful baby girl. Our Joy was brought into the world on a sunny day in April, and for nine years we were able to live together as a normal family, with normal lives, and hopes and dreams for the future. Until a sunny morning in late march, on a day much like the day Joy was born.

My fame as an archaeologist had spread throughout Great Britain, and the world. As far as the magazines were concerned, I was the prime authority on the excavation of ancient ruins. I was careless in allowing myself to become so famous... Targent had eyes hidden in the shadows of every corner of the earth. They had arcane ways of knowing about every relic and archaeological discovery in the world, including my own. Naturally when they learned of my accomplishments, they tried to utilize my skills. When they requested I work for them, I turned them down without question. And they promised they would make me pay for my mistake. From my experience with Targent, I had no doubt they would come for me. Although they were blissfully unaware of who I was, and hadn't an inkling of an idea what my true intentions were, I fully expected to be held at gunpoint and forced into submission as my father had been, or perhaps they were past forced conscription and would simply try to murder me on the spot. But I laughed that they thought they could do that to me, just like every other poor soul who ever fell pray to them. I spit in their faces and laughed them to scorn, and I _looked forward_ to the day they came for me, under the horrible misapprehension that they could not defeat me. I was such a fool..._ I was such a fool_. When I came home that morning to our house in the English countryside, the second one I would live in with a _family_, I went immediately to Louisa and I's bedroom... Joy liked to sleep with Louisa whenever I was away, and I knew I would find them both there and I wanted to surprise them... I found them just as I thought I would, but they never awoke to greet me. Their precious faces were both soaked in blood. They had both been shot.

I laid between them all that day. There was nothing else I could do. The police, Scotland Yard; they were powerless against the Targent Agency. Targent was, after all, a government organization — The authorities had no choice but to turn a blind eye. It didn't matter, anyway. No amount of jail time, nor even capital punishment, would bring my family back. But Targent needed to be punished, and the only one who was capable of such a feat, was me. All I wanted was revenge. It had been what I'd wanted all my life, now it was all I had left. It was the reason I got up in the morning; the reason why I didn't pull the trigger and allow myself to die with my wife and child and believe me, _it was the only reason_. I wanted to kill Targent first. I wanted to take my sword and slash their leader into pieces: one for each piece of my soul they had stolen, which could never be replenished. And then, I learned that their leader had once been an earnest archaeologist who lived a happy life with his wife and his two young sons, until he, like so many others, had been abducted for the knowledge he possessed. Targent's leader was my father, Leon Bronev.

When I learned this, I sobbed the same way my brother and I did on the day our parents were taken, and I realized I was a broken man now. There was nothing left of me except for an empty shell barely alive, barely breathing. My eyes were dimmed. I saw nothing. I felt nothing. There was nothing left. I could not go on any further and have revenge as the person I was, and so someone else would have to do it in my place. Targent already knew who I was. They had done all they could do to punish me; if they caught me interfering with their plans, they would surely kill me, and all I had worked for would be for nothing. I had no other choice but to continue my work in disguise. Donning a costume inspired by the games of dress-up I used to play with my daughter, and using the money I had earned from all my archaeological finds, I became Jean Descole, an artistic and eccentric scientist hellbent on achieving his Herculean goals.

Again, I sometimes try to imagine how things would have been different if I had been adopted with my brother. If only the two of us could have stayed together, perhaps I would not have grown up the way I did... Perhaps my life wouldn't have turned in the direction it took. Of course, I cannot pretend my brother led a normal, pain-free life either. Hershel Layton has certainly had his share of hardship and tears, same as I have. Whether or not the memory remained fresh in his mind, it should not be forgotten that he too was brutally wrenched from the arms of his parents at a young age. He too lost the love of his life to a cruel twist of fate. He has experienced many a tragedy, some as a comforter, some as a victim. How did I know all this about my brother when indeed we spent most of our lives apart? It sounds more than a little strange, I know, but I watched Hershel Layton for many years. Though I did not physically see him in person for the first thirty, I did what I could to learn about him; where he had been, what he'd been doing, and who he'd been with. If Targent could do it with a thousand archaeologists, surely I could manage with one person. I am completely aware of how insane it all sounds. Perhaps it was my way of keeping him close — Or who's to say I wasn't completely insane? I suppose I was weak, and unable to let go. I wanted to make sure he was living the life I gave up my name to permit him to live. I could not simply reintroduce myself into his life. He wholeheartedly believed he was a Layton by blood; if I were to tell him otherwise it would shatter everything he knew. More urgently, if I were to allow him back into my life, he would surely become an open target for Targent, even more so than he already was. Still I always hoped that someday we would be able to meet... I only hoped our first reunion would have been under happier circumstances than they were.

And so it was that by the time we were reunited in the foggy town of Misthallery, Hershel Layton was a revered archaeology professor at Gressenheller University, and I... I was a masked madman, and was earning a reputation as so. I did not care what it took to take down Targent. They had hurt me. They had stolen everything from me. I was now willing to hurt anyone who got in my way of bringing them down. I manipulated people, innocent and otherwise, to achieve my own ends. In order to defeat Targent, I needed to get to each of the Azran's three legacies before they did. The Garden of Healing in Misthallery, the City of Ambrosia, and the Infinite Chamber of Akbadain were all on my list to conquer, no matter what it took to do so. I built a machine that would allow me to single-handedly excavate an underground paradise, and a musical instrument that could copy the memories of a dead person into a living one. I told countless lies, and created dozens of large scale illusions and deceptions. I am certain that I did mental harm to many, and possibly bodily harm to some. But I never killed a human being. I would not, I _could_ not kill another man or woman who did not work for the Targent Agency, no matter how much I threatened to in order to strike fear into the people I stepped on. Fear was an essential component of control, and control was absolutely necessary to ensure my plans ran smoothly. But I would not kill another person, as that would lower me to the same level as the people I hated. And no matter what manner of villainy I had resorted to by that time, I was still a human being, somewhere in the emptiness of what I had become.

It was destiny that I would never achieve my revenge the way I had planned however, as without even trying, Hershel Layton was always one step ahead of me. It could not have been a coincidence that he was somehow connected to every legacy I strove to unearth! It could not have been an accidental happening, a fluke, that he somehow got involved in everything I tried to do, outwitted me and thwarted me in all my endeavors no matter how hard I tried to deter him! I never meant to become the arch nemesis of Hershel Layton and he never meant to become mine! It was fate that brought my brother and I together, and I have never doubted that for the briefest instance in my life! I could not go on pretending it was not the truth, and I could not solve the mystery of the Azran legacy without him. I knew the time had come at last for me to call upon Professor Layton for assistance. There was no feasible way I could have done it as Jean Descole, for he would never have helped me after the damage and suffering I'd caused. So for the four and a half months that I traveled with him, I resumed the guise of my old person; the one I thought had been wiped from existence years ago after the untimely deaths of my wife and child.

To be myself again after three long years, and to remain myself for more than four months without ever having to hide behind a mask, disguising who I was; the way I walked or the way I talked. To behave in a way that was natural to me. To be a kind intellectual, able to help others because I wanted to, and not because it would yield some profit to me. During those four and a half months it was proven time and again that Hershel Layton and I were practically one in the same. The similarities were remarkable; never had I met a man so much after my own heart than this puzzle-solving archaeology protege. I admit he was just as brilliant as I was, perhaps more so. If one of us was stumped and didn't know how to proceed, the other would almost always have the answer. The two of us combined our talents to unravel the mystery of the Azran legacy. Together, it seemed we were an invincible team, and his two young assistants I believe I became as fond of as he was during that short time... At the end of our adventure, I was glad to have brought my brother with me. Whether or not he knew who I was, or who I_ truly_ was for the most part of our journey, it did mean the world to me to have him by my side as I completed my life's mission. After all, Targent's crimes were as much against him as they were me, although he would not realize it until that final day...

I nearly died in the Azran Sanctuary. It was rather fortunate the way it happened, for if it had not happened I surely would never have been able to redeem myself in the eyes of my brother and his companions. I needed to tell them that I was Descole — I had no other choice, as I could not face Targent as myself. I knew I could not expect them to forgive me. I could not even hope for forgiveness, for there was no hope left within me. When Luke got in the way of a laser beam trap, it was merely a reflex that I jumped in front of him. For once I did not stop to weigh out my options before acting. The boy would have been killed if I didn't do something; it was as simple as that. I was not trying to be a superhero, or even atone for my mistakes, for my mistakes could not be atoned for. The only thought that crossed my mind as I suddenly found myself lying on the ground, burnt and critically wounded from the laser, was that I needed to tell Hershel Layton I was his brother.

How I survived my near-death experience, to this day I do not know. I never had that zeal for life my brother had. All I can assume is that during what should have been my final moments, something, or _somebody_ willed me to live. I almost remember that wondrous Azran girl talking to me in a dream, telling me I mustn't give up. She told me that hope was more than the foolish illusion I had written it off to be, and that the hopes and dreams of the family I lost still lived on in my heart. And that, I can only speculate, is the reason why I have lived to be eighty-five years old. From that day on I tried to view the world only through their eyes. It was the start of a new reality for me —A new horizon, and a future I could finally look forward to. My wife and daughter, my mother, and my brother; all of them I would keep as reminders of the brief, beautiful moments of my past, and also as role models for the present and the future that awaited me.

I did not keep in touch with Hershel Layton after the Azran legacy was laid to rest — I did not even try. It was destiny that two brothers separated at a young age should meet again, but perhaps it was also destiny that we were separated in the first place. Our lives set forth down different paths from the beginning, never meant to be intertwined. Just knowing he was out there somewhere in the world, and aware that he had a brother, was comfort enough to me. I would see Hershel Layton sporadically throughout the years — Apparently the earth was not big enough to keep us from bumping into one another — and I enjoyed every one of those encounters, short and sweet as they were. Our meetings were few and far between; often going five or eight years without seeing each other. Naturally every time we would meet, one or both of us would look a little different, a little older than before. And now I fear that I will not be seeing Professor Layton again. For I still live in London, and I have heard the rumours that he has been bedridden for some time. And it does not appear that he will be getting up.

I would never have thought that I would live a longer life than my brother. It always seemed he was the more fortunate of the two of us; whether he simply had the better attitude is a matter of the onlooker's opinion. In any case, the day that Hershel Layton dies will be a day, once again, of despair for me. He gave me something to hold onto for all those years, when otherwise, I would have been alone. And if we ever meet again, it will be thanks, in part, to him. If we do meet again, we will finally belong together. We can at long last be the brothers we were meant to be, and not even fate can tear us apart.


	8. My Dad

**I'm baaaaack! With another chapter! This time by the professor's son, Alfendi Layton. **  
**DISCLAIMER: I know absolutely nothing about the character of Alfendi, besides the little bit I read on the Layton wikia. I don't own the game, nor do I have any idea how to get it, so to play it safe this focuses mostly on Alfendi's childhood with the professor, as opposed to his post-game life like some of the other chapters have.**

**You guys should also know that this chapter killed me on so many levels... xP Also, I don't think I've thanked you all for the amazing reviews you've been giving this in quite a while, and I really should be replying to each of your lovely comments personally because they sincerely mean the world to me. Seriously, you people have no idea how happy your reviews make me. Please keep them coming so I don't need therapy after I'm finished writing this, because this is some depressing stuff you know! xD Still this fic is completely worth it, because you readers seem to be enjoying it so much. :) **

**Thank you so, so, so much again, everybody! I love you guys! You're incredible. Really. :D**  
**~Dew**

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Why is it that we never realize how much we appreciate something until it's gone, and the things we love become more precious to us when we don't have them anymore? We don't pine for the friends we see every day, or relish every moment with them as we say we would after they've walked out of our lives, if we could only see them again. When a loved one dies, it's as if everything about them becomes holy. Items that once belonged to them are clung to and cherished by surviving friends and relatives who wish to keep them as relics of memorial. Things our loved ones used to say are remembered affectionately and quoted often, and if they've passed on any wisdom in their lifetime, we tend to realize after they're gone just how wise their little wisdoms were... And we wonder if our loved ones can see us, and imagine what they would think if they knew just how much we miss them, and how much they meant to us in life. But why didn't we show them this kind of affection when they were still alive? It's almost as if we love them more after they're already dead.

Obviously this isn't true, but it does seem that way when you think about it. We've all heard the term "respect for the dead", but all too often people are not treated with such great respect in life. I hope I've treated my dad with all the respect that he deserves, so that when he does go, he knows that he was loved.

I don't want to lose my dad at forty-two. It doesn't seem fair. I know guys who are in their fifties, sixties —even seventies! — whose parents are still alive and strong. My dad is eighty — He would have been eighty-one in April. He was in his thirty-eighth year when he adopted me. Yes, I am not the biological son of Hershel Layton, but I've never considered at any point in my life that he isn't my real father. I know nothing about my birth parents, and that's the way I want to keep it. Hershel Layton is my only parent; he raised me by himself since I was born. I never had a mother figure, as my dad lost the love of his life a year prior to my birth. Dad always told me that she would have been my mother, and in a way she still was, as it was she who made him realize he needed a child in his life. He didn't tell me this until I was in my late teenage years, entering into adulthood, but after Claire died, my dad experienced a period of melancholy. He adopted a child to put the light back into his life — To fill the empty space in his heart that she had left behind. I was blessed to have been the child to come home with Hershel Layton. The adoption went through at Christmastime, and for years my dad would tell me the story of when he brought me home, and how exhilarating it felt to become a father. When I was very young, I would always feel bad at Christmastime when we would be opening presents and I hadn't bought anything for him. My dad would tell me I didn't have to worry because I was his favourite Christmas present, and just having me with him was enough for him... How I wish those days could've never ended.

You would think that such a famous individual wouldn't have much time to spend with their children. This couldn't have been any more opposite the case with my father. No matter how many classes he had to teach, dig sites he had to attend, or mysteries he was entreated to solve, I was always his top priority. I remember when I was very young, and not yet school-aged, my dad would often take me with him to his lectures. I would sit quietly on a chair in the corner of the room with my juice box and crackers, playing with whatever little thing I had brought to play with that day, or sometimes even observing the class. I used to love to watch my dad pace back and forth as he spoke to his students, a cup of Earl Grey tea in one hand as he pointed to various items of interest on the blackboard with his other. I recall that I particularly enjoyed the end of the lecture, when students would come up to my dad and comment how adorable and well-behaved I was, and say that I was "truly Professor Layton's son". Their compliments didn't mean much to me, a child of two or three years old, but it didn't take long for me to realize that good behaviour yielded sweet rewards... My dad would always, no matter what, take me for a blueberry muffin at the university's coffee shop when we were done. Usually I couldn't eat the whole thing myself, and he would end up finishing it for me. He never complained about it, though. That was the kind of father he was.

When I look back at my childhood, I realize that all my most prominent memories are something to do with him. I'll never forget Dad trying to teach me to ride a bicycle along a busy London sidewalk. It took a lot of convincing and pestering and whining for him to even allow me to try. He had wanted me to wait until we visited Monte'Dor, so I could practice on the back roads of Randall's vast property. Randall had (much to his maids' dismay!) allowed me to ride my tricycle through his mansion on numerous occasions, and his daughter Penelope, who was like a cousin growing up, was a few years my senior, and had already been through the whole two-wheeler learning experience. I, however, had different ideas, and wanted to ride a bike /before we went to Monte'Dor, probably so I could show off in front of Penelope. Through all the hair-raising adventures my dad had been on in his lifetime, I doubt he'd ever been as scared as he was when he let me loose on that sidewalk for the first time, bodies everywhere, and a pregnant lady whom I almost collided with while she was looking down at the other child she was pushing in a stroller... By some miracle, I made it around the block without injuring anyone, or myself! But I think my dad got his first grey hair that day. He was much calmer, believe it or not, when I was sixteen and learning how to drive. I did go to the back roads at Randall's for that. My dad swore he would not make the same mistake twice.

My father was always trying to keep me safe, and with good reason, as I wasn't always the most cautious of kids. I would get all roughed up playing outside with my friends, and would come crying to my dad who would put a bandaid on my cut elbow or scraped knee, tell me everything would be all right, and request that I /please be more careful in the future. I would always promise I would be careful, but I usually had a hard time keeping those promises, as like any young boy, dangerous situations were a temptation to me. When I was eight, there wasn't a tree in our neighbourhood I couldn't climb. Once I shinnied up a pine tree in the park near our home. I climbed right up into the top branches, and panicked once I realized how high up I was. One hastily made move resulted in a badly broken arm, and the next three days in the hospital as they tried to set it, and re-set it. My dad wasn't angry with me for being reckless and climbing a tree I knew was dangerous to climb. He stayed with me for every minute of my hospital stay, just as he had the year before when I was in for a concussion I'd acquired at a football game, after conking heads with another player. I remember whenever I would come home from the hospital, my father and Flora would treat me like I'd come home from a war. They waited on me hand and foot, so much so, in fact, that Flora used to tease that I got injured on purpose just so they would be my servants. Of course it wasn't true, but I can't say I completely /hated getting sick or injured, because I knew they would take care of me... Perhaps I /liked when they took care of me...

Flora was always such a mother hen to me. My dad was so lucky to have had her around to look after me while he was away on his expeditions. Flora was fifteen when I was born, and was, in a sense, an older sister to me, as she was also a sort of 'adoptive child' of Professor Hershel Layton. Despite our age difference, the two of us were closer than the average blood siblings. In fact, it may have been our age difference that made us so close. Whenever my dad was away, Flora would be the one to take care of me. That is, until she got engaged when she was twenty-six and fled the nest. I was only eleven at the time — Much too young to be staying by myself for weeks on end. I stayed with my gran and grandpa the first few times he was away, but my dad decided before long that his parents were too old to be forced to look after a rambunctious and injury-prone eleven-year-old... That was the year Dad started taking me with him on his expeditions.

Those were some of the most exciting experiences of my life. I'll never forget flying in an airplane out to the desert of a remote country in Africa. It was my first time on a plane, and I was off-the-walls excited to take off. The minute we got into the air was a different story. I thought for sure I was either going to throw up or die when I looked out the window into the infinitude of nothingness and clouds. It was especially embarrassing because I had already sworn to my dad I wasn't afraid of heights anymore, and had begged him for the seat nearest the window. My dad wasn't ashamed of my behaviour, however, and he didn't tease me like some other dads might have. He let me trade seats with him, and gave me his arm to hold onto for "as long as I needed it." As a child, there was something about holding onto my father that comforted me. It was like I was safe as long as he was there, and I knew he was there because I could feel him; I could bury my face in him if I wanted, and shut out the world and the things that scared me. When I held his arm in the airplane, I knew I wasn't going to fall, and even if our plane crashed, I knew he would protect me...

We solved puzzles for the rest of that flight. He gave me all the ones he thought I could solve, and I tried to come up with some good ones for him. The puzzles I created were hardly a match for the incredible mind of Professor Layton, but he always pretended to struggle just enough to make me feel as if I had succeeded in creating a puzzle that was actually a challenge for him. My father was always doing things like this for me. He encouraged me, in everything I aspired to do. After a day at my first dig site, I thought for certain I wanted to be an archaeologist. My dad thought this was wonderful, and was eager to teach me everything he knew. He showed me every artifact he had obtained from years in the field, and explained what each one was, or what he /thought each one might be. He told me that each relic had an important lesson to teach us about the past, and he shared with me the stories of how he came to discover them all. I ended up deciding I didn't care much for broken pieces of pottery and rusty cooking utensils, but the stories of how he obtained them were of utmost interest to me.

When I was younger, I knew my dad was famous, but I never really knew the reason why, other than that he was "smart and good at solving puzzles." Hearing these stories made me realize my dad wasn't just a dad: He was a hero, a genius, a gentleman, and a friend to anyone who needed one, including strangers. These stories made me appreciate my father even more than I already did, and I found that I was in awe of my dad, as can only be expected from the son of Professor Hershel Layton. I knew at that moment that I wanted to /be like him/ somehow. I wanted to follow in his footsteps, but I already knew archaeology wasn't the path for me. I did, however, have a passion for solving mysteries — A passion that had been instilled in me by my father. It was not in my blood, but it was in my heart, and puzzles had been in my mind for as long as I could remember. With my father's help, I was able to choose a career path that would not only allow me to make use of my puzzle solving skills, but to use them for the greater good of the community, and all of England. I became a detective for Scotland Yard, a career that I could be passionate about, and that my father could be proud of.

After a short while, I was promoted to Inspector. My dad was so proud he invited everyone out to dinner in my honour. What he led me to believe would be a small gathering of buddies from the Yard turned out to be a massive party. Old family friends piled into the restaurant. Randall and his family, Clive, and Flora and her husband and children. My mates from the Yard did show up, as well as longtime friends of the family retired Inspectors Grosky and Chelmey, along with their wives Hanna and Amelie. My dad even arranged it so that Luke Triton could be there on one of his visits back to England. As a well-respected professor of criminology at the University of Boston, he was especially excited for me, and to see all his old friends together in one place again was truly worth flying across an ocean for.

That was the last time we would all be together, however. As the years wore on, and people got older, everyone became busy with their own lives and families. Everyone, including myself. I moved out of my father's house as soon as I started my career. And I regret it now. There was no call at all for me to leave so young. Some kids stay with their parents until they're thirty years old... I was only twenty-two, and when I look back, I was too immature to be making that kind of decision, otherwise I wouldn't have made it. At the time I guess it didn't occur to me that moving out meant moving away from my dad. My flat wasn't far from his, but it was still far enough that I could not see him every day like I used to. When I woke up, he wasn't there, and when I went to sleep, sometimes he seemed even farther. We couldn't spend rainy weekend afternoons solving puzzles like we used to, because I was always working and he was always off on another adventure.

I know my dad is dying. I can feel him slowly slipping away from us. In the past few weeks he's barely eaten, barely gotten up from his chair. I took some time off to spend with him — It's the first time I've done it in years. I've been with him for the past few days now, though he hasn't once gotten out of bed. And then this morning, I thought he wasn't going to wake up... I've notified his closest friends; I know he would like to see them... I don't know what else to do. He's not in any pain at all. As far as we know, he's healthy. I keep offering to do things for him, to look after him just like he did for me when I was young. I try to get him to solve puzzles, though my puzzles are still no match for him. No matter what I say, though, he always turns me down. I almost resent the fact that he's just going to let himself pass away. After all he's been through, it almost seems unfitting that he should go without a struggle, because Hershel Layton has always been a fighter, never willing to back down from even the most formidable of challenges. In the past little while, however, he's been talking a lot about Claire.

Before these past few weeks he's hardly ever spoken of her, and I've never pressed him, because I knew how much it upset him. Before now, the most he ever really told me about her was when I was six years old, and had asked where my mother was. He told me she was in Heaven, because she was too wonderful for the earth, and I truly think he believed it himself. ...I know that I do. For any woman my father could love so much must have been an angel. Though he never spoke of her, I know she was always on his mind, for I've seen him kiss the picture of her he keeps on his night table. He keeps it next to his bed so it's the last thing he sees when he goes to sleep at night, and the first thing he sees when he wakes up. ...I think he's getting ready to go and be with her now.

I'm not ready to say goodbye to my dad. It should be a comfort to me that he will go to sleep peacefully, and I will not have to lose him to disease or some tragic accident, but it's not. It's impossible to be happy when you're about to lose a parent. By blood or not, Hershel Layton is my real father. He raised me; he took care of me all those years. He loved me, even through the times when there was nothing lovable about me. And yet, I feel as though I am only now giving him the credit he deserves. I guess there are no words to express how much I love my dad. A world without Professor Layton will be a dismal world — A world with one less gentleman, one less hero, one less role model. When he leaves us, he'll take his wisdom, his puzzles, his kindness he's so famous for. So many people will lose their dearest friend... And I'll be losing even more than that.

But my dad will be gaining something nobody on Earth could give him, and I don't want to keep him from it any longer. When I no longer have my dad to hold onto, I pray that I'll still be able to feel him in spirit. As long as I can still feel him, I'll know he's still here, and I won't have to be afraid because I'll know he's still protecting me.

As long as I can feel him, I'll know he's still here, and I'll know that he can see me and that he knows how much I miss him, how much he meant to me in life, and how much he'll always mean... My dad.


	9. My Love

**Well guys, here's a chapter I bet you weren't expecting. Unless you're falconadventurer/The Legendary Falcon Fall, who suggested I do a oneshot like this way back when I first started this series. Thanks for the idea, pal! :)**

**I suppose you can guess whose POV this is from. In case you notice this one's written a bit differently, I would like to make it clear that a lot of this writing, especially the first paragraph, contains ideas and words that are NOT my own. I don't think it counts as plagiarism though. I think they're free of use, as long as you use them correctly. ;)**

**I went right to the source for this chapter. I wanted to keep it 100% true to life. For further reading, feel free to check out the book of Revelation, chapter 21. It will make way more sense if you do, and you'll see what I'm talking about, is true. :D**

**Anyway, please enjoy this chapter! Or at least forgive me for doing something totally different from what you expected.**

**~Dew**

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The walls of this city are made of jasper, and the streets are of pure gold, clear as glass. The foundations of the walls are adorned with precious stones — All manner of gems imaginable: sapphire and amethyst and topaz and emerald. There are twelve gates in this city: three in the east, north, south, and west, and the gates are all made of pearl. But the gates are never shut by night as they were in ancient cities, for there is no night here. There is no night, but we have no need for the sun or the moon, for the Glory shines like the sunlight, and immerses us in eternal day. And there is no death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither is there any pain, for all these former things have passed away. ...These words are true and faithful.

I know I can't fully describe to you what it looks like where I am, that is, I can't describe it so that you could comprehend it. The sights I see in the city I'm in cannot be described in human words to be understood by the human mind or perceived by the human eye. The only thing I can safely say is that the place I am in is paradise, and the longer I am here for, the more immaculate it becomes. In your eyes I've been gone for many, many years, but in truth I've barely gotten settled into my new home. I have neighbours who've lived here for much longer than I have, and they all say it feels like just yesterday they arrived. In reality of course, it was not yesterday, as there's no meaning of the word here, and no such thing as tomorrow. The present is all we have in this place, an ever continuing and glorious afternoon... As different as this sounds from life as you know it, my love, this place is not so far away as you might think it is. In a different realm, yes, more real than the flesh, but no matter how far away I may seem, I can still see you, Hershel. I've seen you many times since the day we parted, and though you can't see me, I've always been with you.

I can't see you all the time. I hope you'll forgive me when I tell you there's too much to be done up here — I can't be watching you every night and day. I don't often see you at the grocery store, or making dinner, or cleaning your office. I have, however, seen you during many important moments of your life: I've seen you solve countless baffling mysteries that only you could solve, I've seen you make extraordinary discoveries for the benefit of all mankind. I've watched the big friendly gatherings, and the small, precious moments you've shared with our child, Alfendi. And I've seen the lives you've changed, and the hearts you've touched. You probably don't know this, Hershel, but there are so many people you've crossed paths with in your lifetime who are greatly indebted to you. Do you know that there's a woman in a hamlet called Misthallery who thinks about you every time she turns another year older? She's so grateful to you for saving her life when she was but a young child, she's promised to never forget you for as long as she lives. There's a lady in a town called Dropstone who tells the story of how she came to be reunited with her grandfather. She remembers every detail clearly, and she never leaves out the part about the brave man in the top hat who came to their rescue when all seemed lost. I've watched little Luke grow into a gentleman, guided by the principles you taught him. Flora has loved you like her own father, and your friends adore you more than you could ever realize. I've learned during my time here that everybody has a purpose: a unique gift that they alone can give to the world, and if they use it correctly, they can make a difference only they can make. You've fulfilled your life's role so well, Hershel — Brilliantly so. You've been such a gentleman in your lifetime. You've been everything I'd hoped you would become when I first gave you that top hat.

You know I loved you with all my heart and soul — To this day, I still do. You were always such a kind, compassionate, wonderful human being. Since the first time I saw you, I knew there was something special about you, something I fell madly in love with the moment our eyes met. We were friends for a while, and then one day I realized that the feelings I had for you were not just a case of me being an over-emotional, love struck undergrad. You had helped me so much with my studies, and had always been there for me, as my friend and my supporter, and my comforter when I needed one. I was too shy to tell you to your face, so I wrote you a letter from the heart. From that day on we were together... And I wanted to be with you always. When you earned your PhD, I wanted to celebrate with you. I wanted to buy you something special to show how proud I was of you. When I saw that top hat in the window of the hat shop on Kensington High Street, I knew I had found the perfect gift. To me it was the very picture of a successful and sophisticated intellectual; a dignified and charismatic London university professor — The picture of a true gentleman. It was the vision of everything I wanted for you. True gentleman are hard to come by, and very few men are truly deserving of the title. But Hershel, I knew if anyone could do it, you could if you put your heart into it. I thought the hat would be the perfect little push you needed to try your best every day. I hoped that you would wear it while you were on campus, and that it would remind you of your girlfriend back home who wanted more than anything for you to be a gentleman... I hadn't the slightest idea how earnestly you would keep your promise to "never take it off".

I have to admit, I was a little bit shocked when I realized you'd had your car custom built to accommodate the hat's height! You really did wear it all the time, didn't you? The only time you would remove it was right before bed, and it'd be back on your head as sure as if it was part of your body first thing in the morning. You wore it everywhere you went: to parties, funerals and social gatherings, around campus and around London, around the house and around the world! I knew by that time you were no longer wearing it to remind yourself to be a gentleman. But still you were completely unwilling to take it off even for a moment, and even when it would have been more convenient to remove it, if only for the hat's sake! People would giggle about it, and make cheeky comments about wondering what your head looked like underneath. You became as famous for your hat as you were for your brain — And you didn't mind it one bit, did you? ...I know you wore that hat for my sake, Hershel. The look in your eyes as you carefully lifted it from your head and placed it tenderly on your nightstand next to a picture of us from our college days told me so. If I could have been with you in body to lay beside you all those nights when you were feeling so alone, you know I would have. To kiss your lips and let you feel my heartbeat next to you... To let you know I was still alive... You know I would have given anything. But darling, a beating heart is not essential for life where I am. Though you could not feel my heartbeat against your chest, I was still more alive than you could know. And many nights, /I was with you. I was not there physically, but I could see you. You were never completely alone, my love. I would never have left you alone.

After we parted, you stopped wearing the hat. You continued to wear it for some weeks, and then, when you stood peering at your reflection in the mirror one day, you broke down crying. I saw that moment. You whispered to me softly through the tears, and you told me that you couldn't wear my top hat anymore; you couldn't bear it. You didn't think I could hear you, but I could. You asked me to forgive you. You asked that I would understand. I hope you know that I could never have been angry with you, Hershel; I completely understood your pain. On Earth, death seems like the worst possible thing that could happen to a loved one, or to ourselves. Where I am now, death seems like no big deal at all. So many earthly matters we were so bothered by seem so trivial, so small and unimportant to all those who dwell here. We don't concern ourselves with those matters now. The only thing of any importance to us on Earth are the loved ones we left behind. And that is why we watch them from time to time. We want to know how they are getting along without us, how they're surviving in the trying and turbulent world they still live in. And Hershel, you've stayed so strong. You've gotten along just fine... Just fine...

You must know the insight you possess bears similitude to those in Heaven, more so than those on Earth. It was not a coincidence that you were born like this — It was a gift that was given to you for a purpose. There are many things that you don't know, Hershel. The greatest mysteries of the world will never be solved on Earth, and cannot be learned in mortality, for His thoughts are not our thoughts, neither are His ways our ways. The wisdom you have been given, however, is an unusual blessing most never receive. Your intelligence is what brought you and your brother together. He knew he couldn't discover the legacy of the Azran without you. Your intelligence is what drew all manner of people to you asking for help, and you answered every one of them. All they had to do was ask and you would go to them, and save them. It was as simple as that. And that is the beauty of the universe, Hershel. The keys to life on Earth and life everlasting are so simple that even a child could understand. Many people will not accept this as truth; they can't accept that it's that easy, and will instead go to impressive lengths to try to earn their reward. But toiling for something that doesn't require toil will only result in defeat at the end. In the most important case, it will lead to sheer demise, but when you take a step back and view the world from a distance, you'll realize things aren't always as they seem, but indeed much less complicated and complex. It's black and white. You have solved this puzzle, my love, and that is why you have held the world in your hands. There's only one way to get here, and that is a gift. You have accepted the simple truth, Hershel Layton, and when you did everyone here jumped for joy. They were all watching with me. They hoped that you would. We're like a family here, united by a common bond. We share a perfect love that cannot be explained, neither can it be broken.

I see you in bed now. You're lying ever so peacefully, your body moving up and down, up and down with every shallow breath, on your face a look of placid acceptance, almost contentedness. You don't look scared at all, and I'm glad for that, as there is no reason to be scared. There's a picture of the two of us in our earlier years beside you. Next to it is a framed drawing our son made when he was young. It depicts an angel, or what a small child at age six believed an angel looked like, with long red hair and the word 'mommy' carefully written in fading letters across the bottom of the paper. And I can't help but wonder, are you looking forward to seeing me as much as I'm looking forward to seeing you? I am not an angel, Hershel, I don't have wings or angelic features. I don't look the same as I did in the picture of you and I, or the way I looked the last time you saw me. But you will recognize me when you get here. You'll recognize me as you'll recognize us all — Your mother and all the saints you've known, and you'll know that we've all been waiting for you. I can't wait to be able to love you with the perfect love that reigns supreme here. I can't wait to be able to hold you again, and never have to let go. Most importantly, I want you to share this place with me. I want you to see the river of life, and the tree of life that bears twelve fruits. I want you to feel the true ecstasy that I feel all the time. The ecstasy that you've been promised.

So speak to your loved ones, Hershel. I know they're coming to see you one last time. Give them one last puzzle, for that's what you do best. Give them a reassuring and gentle smile, as that's what your famous for. Finish anything you still have left to do on Earth. Tell your friends you love them, and let them know how much you've appreciated their constant companionship and company. And when everything is finished, know that God has prepared a place for you. I can't wait to be with you again...

I'll be waiting for you there.

Love, Claire


	10. My Memory

**Hey! **

**So, any Katia fans still present? I received several requests for a oneshot from her POV (thanks guys!), but the problem was I hadn't played Diabolical Box in years, and didn't remember a lot of the details. I replayed it during my 2000 year absence (which I profoundly apologize for. *nervous laugh*) and ended up getting so into the role that I basically wrote a novel about the game from her point of view. XD It was obviously way too long to be included as a chapter of this story, so what you're about to read is a very chopped version of the original. It's still pretty long, so don't read it unless you also loved Diabolical/Pandora's Box, hehe.**

**Maybe if anyone's interested, I'll post the whole thing separate from this story another time. :D**

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Memories.

Stories told in childhood... Country town... Tiny family; broken, but still happy...

Stories told in teenage years, blossoming into adulthood... Letters... Necklaces... A golden box, most importantly.

A quest to grant my grandmother's last wish. A journey on a famous train. My first time out of town. My father's overprotective hold. The adventure I had always dreamed of, but never told anyone I dreamed, except Grandmother.

A town of secrets — A phantom town; one inhabited by illusions. A vampire — A man with a veil of deceit over green eyes that once shone with laughter, love, kindness. A castle filled with puzzles. A gentleman in a top hat, and a little boy in blue.

Hearing the name Professor Layton again brings back all these distant thoughts. It was forty years ago that I met the man, and I haven't seen him since. However, he and his wide-eyed apprentice have remained in my memory for the past four decades, along with a luxurious train ride, the anxiety and excitement of travelling alone for the first time, an illusory town, a castle and the smell of rubble and dust as it crumbled around us. The feel of my grandfather's arms around me when I hugged him for the first time. All of these are components of a memory most special that will remain forever in my heart and mind. My meeting with my grandfather... If it weren't for Professor Layton, it may never have come to be.

I suppose it all started about a week before my grandmother's passing. She knew she only had a short time left on this earth, and before she departed she wanted to make sure a certain matter of dire importance was taken care of...

"You want _me_ to go to Folsense?" I remember shrieking in surprise that day, upon my face a look that could only have been christened bewilderment.

"I want you to go and relay a message to Anton," was Sophia's resolute reply. "Katia, I only ask this of you because I know you can do it." The elderly woman's eyes were stern; as stern and as sincere as if she truly believed, somehow, what she said.

"Your grandfather is a stubborn man. He was fifty years ago. He's been in that castle for half a century, and the curse does terrible things to your mind. But it's imperative that he knows this. ...All I want is for him to know."

My grandmother thought that if Anton were to listen to anyone, it would be his own granddaughter. And if I were to come upon a relic called the Elysian Box, I was to ensure it made it safely into Anton's hands. The box meant everything to my grandmother. It contained something of immeasurable value. It was how she knew her love was still alive; how she knew of his dreary existence in a desolate castle on a hilltop. It had been fifty years since she had seen him last, but a day never went by that she did not think of him. All she wanted was to see him again, and to tell him the reason why she left... But she no longer had the strength to make the journey herself. She humbly asked if I would be willing to go in her place. She said that if only Anton and I could meet she would be happy, and could go to sleep peacefully knowing we were safe with another.

I loved my grandmother — Perhaps there was never another person I was as close to. I did want to fulfill her final wish, but I was scared. In all my twenty years I had never been outside of Dropstone. Grandmother thought it would be best if I went alone, but I had never even traveled, never mind travelling by myself! And of course my father was not happy. He had taken over as mayor when my grandmother died, and was under a lot of stress. The last thing he wanted was to have his daughter leaving off on some adventure into a mysterious, cursed town to meet a man rumoured to be a vampire! I swore to my father I would be alright, and that Anton posed no danger to me, but no matter what I said he still refused to grant me permission to go. But I was an adult, albeit it was sometimes hard for me to believe, and my life's choices were ultimately up to me. Our estate's servants, who had all been very fond of my grandmother, helped me to formulate a plan of action, away from the eyes of my father. When my day for departure came, they saw me off at the train station. And that was when I first saw him: an intelligent-looking man in a tall, brown top hat.

A young boy in a blue sweater and cap was with him. The first glance was nothing more than a first glance at a stranger. For a half a second I wondered if they were relatives of someone in town, visiting for Dropstone's fiftieth anniversary. My focus, however, was on the adventure ahead of me, the opulent train ride I was about to embark on, my friends waving goodbye, the uncanny castle that would be my destination. But then the man in the top hat locked eyes with me, and I felt a strange feeling wash over me, as if I was being watched, or as if this person was going to play a larger role in my story than I could've ever imagined... I quickly broke my gaze and turned to board the train, and I wondered why my automatic thought was that he was a spy sent by my father. I guess I had a guiltier conscience than I thought...

I forgot about the man quickly. The train ride to Folsense provided that. It was just so amazing to be out on my own for once in my life — Oh was it amazing! When I finally let go of my fear of travelling alone, and somehow convinced myself that when I returned home my father would see that my disobeying him was totally worth it... I could finally relax and enjoy the view. Mostly all I saw was open country through the full view window of my deluxe car. The undeveloped land made me realize just how big the world was, and I felt a pang of remorse for what I had been missing all this time. To me, the Molentary Express was synonymous with freedom that day. Though I was still feeling ill at ease about my destination, and lied to all my fellow passengers who smiled at me and asked where I was headed, my grandmother's memory reminded me that I was on this train for a very important purpose. I hoped she was watching over what I was about to do.

Upon arriving at Folsense station it grew unnaturally and eerily dark. The last time I'd checked it was barely dinner time. Sunset didn't happen, and yet darkness enshrouded the Molentary Express, as if it were thrust upon us; as if it wasn't meant to be there. Or perhaps _we_ weren't meant to be there... My grandmother had revealed to me all the secrets of the town, though at the time it didn't occur to me why it grew so dark so suddenly. All I knew was that I was scared, and my mind, so arrested with fright, could not function well enough to think about anything else. It seemed Folsense was just what I'd imagined: a spooky town where it was always night, just like something from a scary movie. Inside the station was just as creepy with its dimly lit, narrow hallways, and walls hung with faded pictures of scenes from a time long past. My hand moved unconsciously to the necklace my grandmother had given me before she died, the one that Anton had once given to her, as I stepped out of the train station and onto a sidewalk I expected to be cracked and fallen-in with age. Neon lights glared at me from all directions then; they burned my eyes, and made me so dizzy that for a moment I thought I was going to faint. When I regained my balance, and my eyes at last adjusted to the blazing light, I could see that the place I had entered was not a dark and foreboding ghost town, but a lively city teeming with people and activity. The buildings were new, and the sidewalks were not cracked _or_ fallen-in. Everything, everything I saw around me looked exactly like it did in the pictures in the station, right down to the people I met. It was all very beautiful. And it was disturbing, because at that moment the severity of my grandmother's words began to set in.

"In Folsense, let's just say people have very selective viewing, hearing, and feeling. They see what they want to see, and experience only what they expect."

_Mentality can shape your reality_, and this couldn't have been any more true in Folsense. It seemed when I looked at the pictures of a bustling town in the station, I imagined Folsense to look exactly as it did fifty years ago. The supposed curse really did do terrible things to people's minds. Just the fact that my grandmother had been willing to send me to such a place demonstrated the immense amount of faith she must have had in me. Perhaps it was this faith that gave me the power to overcome the madness of the curse. After a short while, the neon lights began to go out. The men and women milling the streets disappeared, and the town fell painfully silent. I suddenly wished I hadn't known the truth about the phantom town, because the real Folsense _was_ spooky, and I was now very much alone.

...Or so I had thought. Though the ghosts of the inhabitants of Folsense were gone, it turned out I was not the only one who had traveled to this ominous town via the Molentary Express. There was an inspector walking around with his bobby. They spoke of the Elysian Box, the very relic I was searching for. Apparently the box was connected somehow to a murderer at large, and because I too was searching for the box, they considered _me_ a suspect! My heart had never pounded so fast in my life! I was just an innocent little girl, looking for the box for my grandfather! I had no criminal record — I hadn't hurt anyone since the time I'd gotten into a fight in first grade! The clever bobby kindly pointed out to the inspector that since I didn't have the box in my possession, I couldn't be the murderer. I heaved an enormously grateful sigh of relief when our little confrontation had passed. I still hadn't fully recovered from the shock when I was startled again by a pair of familiar faces. It was the man in the top hat, and the young boy in blue.

They recognized me from the train station in Dropstone. _So you were watching me_, I almost said out loud. They knew I was the daughter of Mr. Anderson somehow, but they didn't seem to be spies like I had previously feared, and they weren't following me. They asked me what I was doing in Folsense, but I didn't give them an answer. I didn't mean to be rude, but I feared I might slip up and accidentally disclose information that wasn't for me to say. I was happy to see them, though. I didn't know why, as I had never spoken to either of them before. For some reason, though, knowing they were in town comforted me, as if I had friends to turn to in case something went horribly wrong. It was probably a stupid thing to think, as they were technically my rivals, and not my friends. We were all in a race to find the Elysian Box: the top-hatted man and the boy, the inspector and the constable, and me. Whoever found it first would take all, whoever didn't take all would be left with nothing. I had to find the box first, for my grandparents' sake... I searched Folsense high and low, asking questions to the thin shadows of residents long gone. I didn't get any sufficient answers, though I suppose even if I had, they wouldn't have been true anyway. They would have just been what I wanted to hear.

I was beginning to doubt myself. How did I know I hadn't fallen trap to the insanity that plagued the town? How did I know that anything I saw before me was even real? My grandmother had told me that Folsense would have crumbling buildings, and crumbling buildings I saw, just as I'd expected. I felt so guilty for acting against my father's wishes that I might as well have committed murder, and I half expected to be chased down by Scotland Yard. The man in the top hat and the young boy in blue had been somewhere in my unconscious mind ever since I'd left the train station. What if everything I saw, and heard and felt wasn't reality, but what I wanted to see, or what I thought I might see? As I was pondering my own sanity, the inspector and the constable from earlier approached me, and told me that the murderer from the Elysian Box case had been found.

We met in an old hotel I had to imagine was still in operation in order to prevent it from being too spooky. Everyone who was, or had been considered a suspect was invited, including the top-hatted man and the young boy. I didn't know much about this supposed murder case, but the events I saw unfold before my eyes were enough to convince me I didn't want to know, as a teenaged girl transformed into a man with a prominent moustache and crazy hair. As he broke away from the inspector's attempted arrest, and escaped out the hotel lobby door, a golden box slipped out of his coat, and went clattering to the floor. The man in the top hat, whom I learned at that time was called Professor Layton, picked it up first. Professor Layton wanted to open it.

"Please just wait for a moment!" I interjected. I had come way too far to allow the box to fall into the wrong hands now. "Is there any way I can convince you to let me have that box?" I didn't want to sound desperate, but I wanted him to know that it was dire. "It's of vital importance." I added. But he refused to give it to me unless I told him why.

Just then, a man burst into the room. I didn't know if he was real or an illusion, but he claimed a resident had been taken by a vampire to Herzen Castle. It was the last thing I had expected, and the others seemed to see him too, so I chased after him to ask about this so-called vampire. My grandmother had mentioned something about the outrageous rumours surrounding my grandfather's identity. On the road to Herzen Castle, I hoped that these rumours would not get the better of my imagination as I prepared for my encounter with the real duke of Folsense.

The castle looked run-down, like the rest of the town did. I was glad for that, as it made perfect sense. If it had been otherwise, I would have been sure I was dreaming. As I stood at the grand entrance, I made it a point not to think _too_ much. It ached to have to do it that way, to not even give myself a moment to reflect on what I was doing. To realize _I was going to meet my grandfather_. The man my grandmother had loved vehemently for fifty years, but never had the opportunity to be reunited with — The very opportunity that I now had. If I stopped to think for even a second, I may have started to form a picture in my mind... And then who knows what I might have seen? When I knocked on the door, a sharply dressed servant came to answer. I had thought my grandfather was the only person who lived in Herzen Castle. That's how I knew that the experience I was about to have was real.

The butler said the master was busy at the moment, and he invited me to sit at a stately dining room table and wait for him. But after three quarters of an hour according to the ornate clock on the wall, my grandfather still hadn't appeared. Throwing caution to the wind, I decided to go look for him. The interior of the castle was quite a sight to behold. The curtains on the windows were tattered and old, and the walls were chipping with stale paint, faded over time. Surprisingly nothing was dusty, and there wasn't a cobweb in sight. I was just thinking how strange this was when I saw two people at the end of the empty hallway, and nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Professor Layton and Luke. It seemed everywhere I went, they were right behind me.

"What are you two doing here?" I asked in sheer disbelief.

"I could ask you the same thing!" retorted Luke. "It's dangerous here! There's a vampire living in this castle, you know!"

"Anton? He's no vampire. He's just-" I almost spilled my heart to them, but caught myself. I couldn't go publishing the truth about Anton before he even knew it himself! I did give them one hint, however, about the curse of the town. My grandmother had said the closer to the castle you were, the more the curse would affect you. I didn't want this to happen to my new-found "friends". They had to get out of the castle as soon as possible. I told them I would help them escape.

As we dashed frantically down the stairs toward their freedom from insanity's grasp, we were met by an elderly man with long white hair and a frail looking body. His thin legs looked like they might give out under his very little weight, and his face bore wan, sharp features, as if every part was defined and exaggerated, and sunken in with age. He had deep frown lines that could only have been formed from fifty years of heartache caused by separation from his love. I knew in an instant that this was Anton. He looked so sad and pathetic, my grandmother's heart would have broken when she saw him, as my heart was breaking...

As I was realizing that I was face-to-face with my grandfather, Anton seemed to recognize me as well. But that was impossible, as I had never met him in my life. He called me 'Sophia', my grandmother's name, and moved ever closer, arms out and bleary green eyes full of tears. I was so startled and shaken by all that was happening I... I didn't know what to do. I hid behind Professor Layton, clutching his arm as if I hoped that he would say something; that he would tell my grandfather that he was making a big mistake. He did nothing of the sort — How could he? — and the old man only became more hysterical, his overwhelming joy of being reunited with his love turned to blind rage at the misunderstanding that this man in the top hat had stolen her from him.

Anton pulled out a sword and slashed between the professor and I. He challenged the professor to a dual. He really thought that I was Sophia, and he was prepared to fight for me. To my surprise, the professor took up his challenge. Both men showed incredible skill and agility as they battled on the grand stairway. I was flabbergasted and mesmerized by their talents. Professor Layton was amazing! But my seventy-something-year-old grandfather was a worthy opponent! As Luke and I reached the top of the stairs, however, the last ounce of the old man's strength went out from him and we witnessed as he collapsed and staggered forward into Professor Layton. But he himself didn't understand why.

"Please just stop Grandfather!" I screamed, unable to bear it any longer. "Your body can't take it."

I burst into tears, and Anton stood there, bemused. _He really didn't know_. I had been over the words I was going to say over and over in my head, but no amount of practice could have possibly made it easier. Thankfully, I had Professor Layton with me. His remarkable intelligence and compassion during these crucial moments is what I remember him for most. He had caught onto the truth behind Folsense — The full and complete truth that nobody else in history had ever known. He explained everything to my grandfather, better than I ever could have. He was frank, but he was kind, and if it weren't for him, I don't know if I would ever have gotten through it.

Anton couldn't believe it at first. He refused to accept it and went into a rage again, this time much worse than before. Consumed by anger, he began to destroy the ancient castle in which he dwelled, but just as a giant chandelier was about to come crashing down on me, the professor saved my life, and my grandfather's. We all escaped unharmed as the castle crumbled around us, and the ruins fell into the gold mine, putting an end to the curse, or rather stopping the leakage of the hallucinogenic gas, as Professor Layton explained.

When he was no longer inhaling the gas, the illusion of Folsense and his youth lifted like a magic spell, and my grandfather saw his withered hands, and realized that what we told him was true... It was agonizing to watch. The one and only part of the whole story I wish I could forget.

Professor Layton and Luke, who had had the Elysian Box with them all along, returned it to Anton, and solved one final puzzle that would expose the box's true content... Without going into every detail; every recollection and wonderful revelation, every tear of sorrow and joy, a letter from Sophia was all Anton needed to accept his new situation, and embrace it.

I've told this story so many times to my children — The story of how Great Grandfather came to live in Dropstone. He lived happily with my father and I until he passed away at age eighty. He lived to see my wedding to my husband John, and under his guidance John and I made it our mission to restore Folsense to its former glory. To this day the historic town is a theme park, with neon lights that shine as brightly as they did in the days of Anton and Sophia, and roller coasters thousands of visitors ride and scream in delight, and not because they're being chased by a vampire.

When I walk through Folsense Park, sometimes I swear I can still see the empty buildings and crumbled streets, and feel the medley of emotions I felt as I went to meet my grandfather for the first time. Sometimes I imagine I meet Professor Layton and Luke on the street corner, and I wonder if they would remember me if I were to see them again. I've seen the professor's name in the papers so many times; I know he's done many things, and helped many others besides me. The man really got around, didn't he? His life was long, and he didn't waste a minute of it. If he passes away today, he'll have lived the exact number of years my grandfather did. I'm sure they would have been good friends if they had had the chance to get to know one another. They were both great men — True gentleman — with so much in common. It's nice to think they may have the chance to meet again on the other side.

It's a shame I never got to see the good professor again, but like the train ride, and phantom town, and my grandmother and grandfather themselves, he will always be part of my memory. I thank him, wherever he is, for making my grandmother's last wish come true.

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**Thank you ****W0lfWarrior for the theme park idea! :D**


	11. My Rival

**Hello everybody! Here's the oneshot you guys requested by everyone's favourite tragically humourous villain, Don Paolo. This is different, but I'll just say if you imagine it in his voice, it should read well. :D**

**I particularly enjoyed writing this one. I hope you guys enjoy it too!**

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Have you ever wanted something so badly that it kept you awake at night? Something that, when it came into your life, you knew you would never be content without it? A desire that governed your thought life; the one thought that all your thoughts seemed to return to? The one dream that all your other dreams revolved around? Something you were willing to do whatever it took to attain, because you knew when you did your entire universe would be complete. That thing that you wanted, did you have it stolen from you? Did you achieve it in the end, or did something, or someone rip it out of your reach, and prevent it from ever being yours?

Once I fell in love with the girl of my dreams. "The girl of my dreams." Ha. Sounds like some fool-headed youth's lovesick fantasy. I almost wish that was all it was. With Claire it was an obsession, a long-living infatuation. From the moment I met the spirited, intelligent red-head I knew I wanted to marry her. Does that sound a bit lecherous? Maybe it was. But that's how I felt about her. When Hershel Layton came into the picture... Not that he was ever not in the picture. He was just another male friend of Claire's — I honestly thought I had more to fear with that older physicist she worked with, Daren or Dimitri or whatever that guy's name was... Well, when Hershel Layton pushed his way in and swept Claire off her feet, that's when my whole world was suddenly forced to change. I could no longer daydream about the day she said yes. I had no right to think about the future we had together. There was no point in even imagining our first date anymore, or going through the words I would say when I finally got up the nerve to ask her! I tell ya, when he came along and made Claire fall in love with him, I just about jumped in the river and drown myself! Fortunately there were enough people around to witness my, uh, accident so I didn't actually drown.

I was a changed man after that; never the same again. I felt different. When I looked in the mirror I swear I even looked different! I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was, but I do know that after that fateful day, I took on a completely different view of the world. I couldn't wrap my brain around how grossly unfair life could be! I mean, I dedicated practically all my time just to _thinking_ about Claire! Did Hershel Layton do that? I put in for a transfer to the Institute of Polydimensional Physics just so I could work in the same building as her! Did Hershel Layton do that? On my days off I used to get up early to be at the coffee shop by six a.m., just because I knew she always stopped there before work and I could see her there! Hershel Layton definitely didn't do that! I never saw him in there once before noon. Especially not in the winter when it was cold and dark, and there wasn't a further desire from your heart than to get out of bed and go get a beverage you didn't even enjoy.

I really thought I had a chance with her. I thought... I thought she liked me. She enjoyed talking to me, about life, about work, about my projects. I would show her my inventions, and she would smile that rosy smile and say "Paul, you're brilliant!" when other people would say "Paul... Haha... You're crazy."  
She was unlike anyone I'd ever met, woman or otherwise. I really thought we were made for each other. I tried so hard to get her to love me, but in the end it was Layton she fell for. I swore I would one day get revenge on him for taking her away from me. But... they seemed so happy together. I said if he ever made Claire cry, I would go after him. But he never made her cry. I'd see them out walking... holding hands... laughing. She'd tell me how good to her he was, and she gave him all the love she had to offer. And I thought that if Claire was happy, maybe I should have been as well. She had what she wanted — If I really loved her I should have been glad for the happiness she found. I didn't think I could ever move on, but as long as Layton took care of her...

Have you ever loved something so deeply, so powerfully and passionately and truly that you were willing to let it go, only to have it viciously torn from your life, and your heart along with it? Claire never should have got involved with that cursed time travel project. I told her I had a bad feeling about it the first time she spoke about her new job. The time machine was nowhere near ready, and the next thing I knew they were testing it. To think those monsters who had the audacity to call themselves good men of science were willing to use that angel as a lab rat! They put her in the machine and tried to make her travel through time, long before it was ready for a human test subject! And Hershel Layton... he let her do it. He let her go. If I was the lucky man to be with her, I would have never allowed it to happen. Layton let them take her. _He let her die_.

How could I have let it happen? I hated myself, and I hated that fiend Layton for not protecting her. I had left my friend in his hands, thinking that he would take care of her. And now she was gone, lost to a fatal explosion. Well, he was going to pay for his heedless mistake, with his life. I was going to make sure of that. An eye for an eye. Layton killed Claire, or so it seemed to me, and I was not going to turn the other cheek. The fool was becoming famous for his "monumental archaeological discoveries". He even saved the world once from some ancient power from a lost civilization, however that works. And I thought, how could he save the world and not Claire? How could he have prevented the entire planet from meeting their demise, and he couldn't save the one person who should have mattered most? Everyone was praising him as a hero; my hatred for Layton only grew. I hated the way they said there was no puzzle he couldn't solve. I hated the little boy who followed him around and idolized him. I hated that foppish hat Claire had given him as a gift. Do you know she gave it to him on the morning before she died? She bought it in celebration of him becoming a professor, and he wore it all the time as if it had simply always been there; as if he was born with it on his head; as if nothing had ever happened. It didn't even upset him to wear it...

A few weeks after the Azran incident, I began to device schemes to make Layton pay for his crimes. Using my own grey matter and the very machines Claire had once called "brilliant", I set out to A) kill him, or B) injure him critically. I would have preferred Plan A, though I supposed Claire had been injured critically before she died, not that I wanted to think about that... I followed Layton everywhere he went: to an artificial town inhabited by robots, to another one inhabited by illusions. You'd be surprised how many artificial towns there are in Britain! They're actually great for carrying out evil plots, as none of the residents suspect anything. Naturally I still had to change my name, and go under a false identity. I didn't want my friends or family to find out what I was doing. What would my mother say if she found out? What would my old professors say? Don Paolo was the alias I ended up deciding on. It sounded Italian, which I was not, so it didn't give anything away, but it was still similar enough to my own name that it suited me, and I liked it. I got myself a snazzy purple coat with a collar that was sure to strike fear into the eyes of anyone I met. With my new name and look, nobody would recognize me as I disguised myself to emulate various people in an effort to hoodwink, swindle and otherwise deceive Layton, all for the good of the mission. What was the point of disguising myself before I disguised myself? There was certainly a point! I mean, I wasn't always in costume. I wasn't when I hijacked that Ferris wheel, I don't think... Or when I knocked down that beautiful, eccentric looking tower in St. Mystere... It was kind of a shame to have to demolish that one.

I did plenty of fun and exciting things on my quest to destroy Layton. Unfortunately, revenge did have a price — A high monetary price. Putting together all those costumes, constructing my ingenious contraptions... It left my pockets more than a little empty feeling, and most of the time I had enough for food and little else. Sometimes I had to resort to desperate measures in order to fund my work. One time I stole a relic of great archaeological value from one of my old professors. Ironically enough, it turned out to be the main attraction of some spellbinding mystery Hershel Layton chose to stick his nose into. Imagine my delight, stealing an item that could make me rich as well as ticking off that ingrate goody-goody! When I wasn't trying to kill Layton, I was usually making his life miserable in any way I could. I overheard him saying to his little flunky one day that nothing was as pleasing as hearing the chimes of Big Ben at the turn of every hour. I broke my back trying to find a way to silence that bell! Of course he foiled me in the end. Not only did he find out _how_ I'd done it, and how to restore the stupid thing to its former cacophonous glory, he even found out that a Mr. Don Paolo was the mastermind behind the vandalism, even though I had been under the disguise of an old lady the entire time! Grr! It had been one of my better disguises too... I had the voice down pat.

This was the way of it for me; this was the norm. I'd chase Professor Layton around as if I were his shadow, traveling with him as if he had arranged for me to accompany him, as if I were his friend. I tried to sabotage him, but it never worked. I was unsuccessful at all my attempts at Plan A, and even Plan B. You'd think I would have considered myself a failure by this point. I had failed to win Claire's affection, failed to save her from her grim fate, and now I had failed multiple times to exact revenge on the man who condemned her. It was strange, though; when I thought about it, my unsuccessful attempts to defeat him did not seem like failures to me. I spent a lot of time with the bloke, you know. Practically all my time, in fact, was devoted to tormenting him. You could say he gave me a purpose, in a manner of speaking, now that I was not spending my days and nights planning my future with Claire. If I was not chasing him, what else would I have been doing? He wasn't a bad guy to be around, anyway. He once adopted a young girl, probably around fourteen at the time. Her parents had both died, and she had been left all alone in one of those artificial towns. Layton took her in and treated her like his own daughter. I disguised as her once and traveled for a time with he and Luke to the phantom town of Folsense. I don't think I admit it to myself at the time, but it wasn't absolutely horrible solving puzzles with them around town — Quite the opposite, if I'm being truly honest. It was kind of exciting to be there to witness first hand the events that were continuously landing the infamous name of Professor Layton in the papers. It appeared frequently in the London Times, and occasionally the criminal mastermind of Don Paolo would receive honourable mention. It wasn't unusual for Layton and his spectacle of a hat to appear gracing the front page, however, one day when I opened up the morning paper to see if our latest adventure had made the news, another man had stolen our spotlight: a man with a name I didn't recognize, but an appearance I surely did.

It had been ten years since Claire's fatal accident, and I hadn't seen either of her scum employers since. I knew one had gone into politics — Typical. And now it seemed the other, the one who had had a crush on her, was continuing his research into the taboo science of time travel. The name the paper called him was not the one I remembered him to go by, but the character was, unquestionably, him. How many physicists could there be in London with the same unusual hairstyle? As soon as I read the headline I was enraged. How _could_ he have still been perusing the puerile fantasy that had cost his assistant her life? Apparently he'd hosted some fancy gala in the park, and invited some of London's most influential citizens to watch the grand unveiling of his machine. The story wasn't on the front page for the demonstration's roaring success, however. The time machine had exploded, just as it had ten years before, and what made this shocking occurrence even more newsworthy was the mysterious disappearance of the machine's creator, along with the prime minister of England. Oh geez, where had I seen that face before? That paper was the bringer of two important realizations for me: one that Claire's scum employer number one had covertly risen through the ranks to become the prime minister without me knowing, and two that both of her employers had suddenly gone missing in an accident sickeningly similar to her fatal one. It was too suspicious for me to not get involved. I had no choice but to investigate.

Why, oh why, did I have to stick my noes in where it didn't belong? What was I, Layton? I didn't need to know the time machine had actually worked all those years ago! I didn't need to know, I didn't need to know, I didn't need to know Claire was still alive, but not for long, and it was ultimately up to us to save her. Not up to me exactly, but to Dimitri — Yes, that was his real name — to build another time machine. When I discovered the supposedly vanished Dr. Stahngun sneaking away from the flat of one Dimitri Allen, I confronted him, and for better or worse he remembered me as a friend of Claire's, and confided in me his plans in the hopes that I could help him. He confessed that the whole time machine demonstration had been a front to kidnap Bill Hawks, whom Dimitri explained was the real culprit responsible for Claire's dea-, er, disembodiment. Cor, I wish I had known that ten years ago... The old geezer would have been much easier to bump off than Layton, that's for sure... Hawks had been taken underground to yet another one of those artificial towns. But this one was different. This was an exact recreation of London, masterfully erected to resemble the artist's vision of our fair city ten years in the future. The city was to deceive the numerous scientists Dimitri had kidnapped into thinking they had been taken to the future. The scientists had been abducted for their services in building a time machine, and they worked tirelessly to build it, day and night, solely because Dimitri told them it was the only way they could get back to their own time. And it was all for, what?

In reality the time machine was to save Claire, who needed it to stabilize her being in the "future." When Dimitri told me she was alive, the first thing I imagined was that she would be in a coma, or some kind of hypersleep; still breathing, cells functioning, heart beating, but not alive so that she could speak to us, or know that we were there. When I first saw her in the underground town called Future London, she walked up to me, and hugged me. She smiled that rosy smile and said "Paul, it's so good to see you." She remembered me, in fact she said to her it felt like no time had even passed. She had gone to sleep one moment, and the next thing she knew she was waking up in Dimitri's lab as if she had blacked out for only a second. It was hard for her to comprehend that she had died and come back. It was wonderful to see her again. Absolutely wonderful. But I wish I didn't have to see her. It was too strange seeing her alive after all this time, I didn't even know how to react. It was so surreal, it was like a dream; a beautiful, strange dream that I knew wouldn't end happily. It was only a matter of time. It was like we were prolonging the inevitable; dragging out our torture. Nevertheless we all continued working on the time machine; Dimitri and I, the shanghaied scientists, some rich kid who hated Hawks' guts and of course Claire. Sweet Claire did whatever she could to assist us in any way possible. She fought bravely for her own life, not only for the sake of living, but for living with us — And Hershel, she said. She said she would never have wanted to stay so badly if we hadn't been working so hard to keep her here. She wanted to stay with us.

When the time machine wasn't working no matter what we tried, we reasoned it was because there was something terribly important missing. The machine was being built specifically for Claire, and so it needed to constitute some personal components that made it her own. In order to allow her to stay in the present, the machine needed to know her past. Claire had provided everything she could, and now it seemed the memories of the person closest to her, the one she spent the most time with in the weeks and months before she died, were required. The only way we could save her now was to bring Layton into the picture. I resented having to spoil my perfect, bittersweet, final moments with Claire, but maybe if his memories were really the last piece of the puzzle we needed... maybe they wouldn't have to be final moments. And, as much as I hated to admit it, it was Layton's right. He was, after all, the one she loved, and he was a genius. If he could save her from going back to her own time, I would be forever in his debt.

Dimitri didn't think sending him a friendly invitation was a good idea. The professor was a do-gooder, and we had no reason to believe he would _not_ turn us into the authorities if we were explicit in telling him our plans. Also Claire, the little angel she was, didn't want him to know she was alive until she knew she was going to stay that way, in order to avoid causing him more pain. Because heaven forbid dearest Hershel should experience the pain Dimitri and I went through. Uggh... We needed to lure him in some other way. The rich kid generously took matters into his own hands. He rigged a disguise for himself with skill that could rival my own, and concocted a hilarious ploy involving an evil Layton from ten years in the future. Layton fell for all our tricks, just as we had hoped, and with his lackey and his cute little adoptive daughter by his side, he traipsed all over Future London and sooner than later debunked its secrets, with a little help — No, make that _a lot_ of help from yours truly. Eh, the rich kid got him here, and Dimitri took on the role of "future Layton". The least I could do was turn myself into an exact copy of the professor and allow Dimitri to lock me up while he went free. I had been waiting for a chance to use that costume anyway.

As it turned out, we were glad we got Layton involved. As intelligent as I was, not even I had realized that the rich kid had criminal intentions...that could barely be justified. He wanted revenge on people who had never wronged him, and by people I mean all of London. Who could have known he had been building a Mobile Fortress to level the city all along? Layton figured it out and enlightened us all, but this time the professor didn't save the day by himself. This time I was a help, and not a hindrance, by using my "brilliant" inventing skills to transform that ridiculous automobile of his into a plane. ...It would make more sense if you had been there, trust me. Ultimately Claire was the hero of this story, however. With her incredible mind and the will of her heart, she dismantled the Mobile Fortress, and saved all of London. She even rescued that little brat from his well-deserved fate!

...So why couldn't we save her? Why was there nothing anyone could do? We were all willing to do whatever it took, because if it had worked our entire universe would have been complete...

I always hated Hershel Layton. Or at least I told myself I did, because I loved Claire. I loved her, I thought, more than anyone else in the world did, and I used my hatred of Layton as a sort of payback on he and life for being so cruel and unfair. On that November night when Layton recognized his lost love; when Claire had to go back to her own time, and Layton plead with her to stay even though he knew it was impossible, I learned just how cruel and unfair the world really was. Fate was wretched to Claire, as well as to her lover who took off his hat and cried in the falling snow. I knew now that he did love her. He loved her with no boundaries; more than his reputation, his pride. He loved her enough to lose it all in the end, after keeping his composure through some of the toughest trials the human mind could fathom. He loved her enough that he would never be content without her, and would be kept awake every night, probably for the rest of his life. And I could see that my suffering through the years could not compare to his suffering now, and I regretted the day I ever cursed that beloved hat of his.

I reached out to him at that time. It was the start of a new friendship for us, or perhaps the next chapter of a friendship that had already begun during the time I spent harassing him. We ended up having a lot in common, he and I. We had lived through many of the same experiences. And we both had the same excellent taste in women. I went to see him just the other day, in fact, and he tells me he's approaching what will surely be the best time of his life. I couldn't be any happier for my friend. Soon he and Claire will be reunited, and they can begin their eternity together... When I die though, you'd better believe I'll be right in there with them — Not between them, of course. Never between them. But together with them, and we'll share that promised perfect friendship and love they speak of. And none of us will ever want again.


	12. My Life Has Been A Good One

**Hi everybody! Well, as much as it pains me to say it, it looks like we've come to the end of the line. Oneshot 12 is by Professor Hershel Layton himself — His thoughts on dying, but more importantly to the professor, the extraordinary life he's lived. :D**

**I know a few of you guys requested a chapter like this, so I hope it lives up to your expectations. I'll be honest, this was actually how I planned to end this series since before I even started. ;)**

**Again, I would like to thank falconadventurer/The Legendary Falcon Fall for the original idea for this oneshot, and the series as a whole. It is not without sadness that I say for the last time, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this (final) chapter!**

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My life has been a good one.

And I believe that's all that needs to be said on the matter. I could go on to describe in detail all the things I've done; the experiences I've been fortunate enough to have. I could sit down with a pen and paper and write down all my accomplishments, if I felt I needed to. I could list all the places I've explored — I could even delve into my deepest memory and try to recall all the puzzles I've solved. But none of that would affect my satisfaction with the almost eighty-one years I have lived. My son is here with me. My daughter is here, and so are Clive, and Randall and even Luke. They've all come to see me off. Just the five of them being here reinforces the notion, and confirms it in my mind. My life has been a good one.

And so would anyone who knows me tell you. I cannot try and dispute it, nor should I ever want to. I was blessed from the start, having been born to a loving family in England. One must take this sort of thing into account when considering how fortunate one has been. Statistics tell us that half of the earth's child population lives in poverty in developing countries. Many of these children are orphans. I am lucky I grew up neither. My birth parents loved me, or so I've been led to understand, and my elder brother sacrificed his name and his own future so that I could have a life with the Laytons.

My brother... When I think about the trying life he had, it makes me feel all the more grateful for the seemingly charmed life I lived. My brother was the most tortured soul I have ever known, yet the amount of strength he demonstrated in overcoming the challenges life presented him with was nothing short of remarkable. That is, after he let go of the persona of Descole, and began to live the way his lost wife and daughter would have wanted him to. He told me he was living in their memory on one of the several occasions I met up with him by chance, after the mystery of the Azran had been solved. I did not keep in touch with Desmond Sycamore after our momentous expedition around the world, and in truth I don't even know if he's alive today. But I do know that I am quite looking forward to seeing him again. I know he'll be there, where I'm going. For my brother, a tormented existence was the door that led to redemption.

How uplifting it is to know we can leave this world of great suffering, and enjoy nothing but ecstasy on the other are so many things I will want to do; so many people I'll be wanting to see. My birth mother, Rachel Bronev, is one of the first on my list. Unfortunately, my memory of her is not a clear one, but I've heard a great deal about her from Dr. Bronev, and I'm hoping before she passed away she too found her way to Heaven's door. Whether Bronev himself will be there, I do not know for certain. I can only assume he repented of his many heinous misdeeds, but he was a stoic man of mystery, and one could never truly be sure. Regardless, Roland and Lucille Layton are the parents I'll be wanting to see first. I wonder how soon I'll be meeting them. How will it will all come about? Will they recognize me? Will I recognize them? And will we all look how we did in life, or how we looked at one time, when we were beautiful and youthful and strong? Or will our bodies be entirely born anew, and there will be nothing recognizable about us? I could use a new body. No, there's nothing particularly wrong with mine, except some arthritis and some other perks, shall we say, of growing old. It has been a long time since I could walk briskly along London streets like I used to. To think in my day I was limber and agile, and could handle a sword like a knight of the Round Table. Or so they used to say about me. That was a long time ago.

I remember fondly the days when I could go anywhere my heart desired on my own two legs. The other age I once existed in, when it seemed the world was mine, and I traversed the earth solving puzzles for pleasure, for others, for humanity itself. My excursions usually began with an acquaintance of mine requesting assistance. It is the duty of every gentleman to help a person in need, but I must say, the prospect of adventure was a lure to me, almost as much as the cry for help. When I look back on my life, I recall that I was not always the venturesome sort. When I was very young I much preferred reading about the topics that interested me, rather than receiving hands-on experience. If I have anyone to thank for my change of heart in this sense, it's Randall. When we were in high school, he insisted upon dragging me along with him on all his ill-conceived "expeditions". They were all extremely dangerous, naturally — Some worse than others. It was our most perilous escapade, however, that made the most profound impact on my life. When Randall fell into what we perceived to be a bottomless pit in the ruins of Akbadai, I decided to pay tribute to my deceased friend by living the life he would have lived, and becoming an archaeologist. Randall set me on my path to discovering my true calling. Now the old bean's eighty-one years old, and still alive as ever. He hasn't changed much since seventeen. His body is older, yes, and he's wiser, maybe. But he's still the same mischievous ginger with a visage of grey hair, the same cheeky grin, and boundless, youthful energy. He's very much a teenager in a grandfather's body, and I wouldn't love him any other way.

My first archeological expeditions with Randall feel like they took place in a different lifetime, yet I recall the most important ones vividly. It's strange to think people forget most of what happens to them in their everyday lives, but there are always a handful of events that they remember indefinitely. For some it is their favourite moments; for others, their least favourite. For myself it seems the majority of these moments occurred when I was in my late twenties and thirties. Luke pointed out to me today that I was thirty-four when I met him. His mind is still as sharp as it was when he traveled with me as my apprentice, and his memory is acute even as he approaches his sixties. The thought almost catches me off guard. To think in a few short years little Luke could be considered a senior himself. When I look at him, I still see a wide-eyed child wearing his blue cap as habitually as I wore my top-hat. The three years that Luke lived with me were years unlike any I'd lived before. I had resided on my own since I was seventeen years old, and having a little boy around the house was quite a shock to my system, so to speak. It was lovely having him around — It was as if he was just what I needed, but wasn't aware until he came to me. During those three years, Luke grew so much. He was there with me through some of the biggest milestones of my life. It was in the town where he was born that I made my breakthrough archaeological discovery. He was there when I found out that Randall was alive; there when I was reunited with my brother; there to give his life to save the earth from the Azran's power; there when I met Flora for the first time. He was even there with Claire... I told him today that if he hadn't had to move overseas with his family, I would have gladly let him stay and be my "apprentice" for as long as he wanted. I'm glad that he stayed in touch with me for the remainder of my life. He's as much a part of me as my own children. It's only fitting that he should be here today.

I recall Luke was not the only person who used to travel with me during my early days. I should like to ask my apprentice, if I get the chance, if he remembers a woman with black hair and astounding talent in the martial arts, who was a good friend, as well as assistant to me. I personally remember Emmy Altava as clearly as if I had seen her yesterday. She, like Luke, was at my side during some of my most monumental moments. She worked as my assistant for a period of three years, and the service she provided me with in that time was invaluable. She was headstrong, intelligent and brave; three qualities that made her the ideal person to have with us on all our exploits. She was also loyal, unfalteringly so. And it was her loyalty to the wrong person that resulted in her resignation in the end. I told her she didn't have to leave, but she insisted it was the right thing to do. After that, she seemed to disappear from the globe entirely. I never saw her again, and Dr. Bronev could not offer any information on her. I wonder if we will ever meet again, and if she would remember me if we did...

How people come and go from our lives is an intriguing concept of the utmost interest to me. It was actually only a few weeks after Emmy's departure that I met Flora, and took her under my wing. When I was first entreated to go to the tiny village of St. Mystere to solve an inheritance dispute, I had a feeling Luke and I were in for more excitement than the letter let on. Albeit, I was never expecting to be awarded the Golden Apple for my efforts, nor was I prepared to welcome a little girl into my life. When the idea finally sunk in that I was now her legal guardian, and she was essentially my adoptive child... well, I reckon I felt like a man becoming a father for the first time, which I suppose is exactly what I was. She never called me her father, as she knew who her real father was — And I would never have forced her to. She called me 'Professor', just the same as Luke and everyone else did, however, to Flora I believe the word eventually became a name synonymous with father, as if she just may point me out in a crowd to a friend and say "that's my Professor," even though she had never been my student in her life. I'm sure the people wondered when she called me this in public. They'd cast inquiring glances when I told them she was my daughter. I've explained it so many times throughout the years. It's quite a curious thing to some that she calls me Professor while her children call me Grandpa. She called me 'Dad' for the first time in the forty-three years I've known her today. She said I was not just a guardian to her, but a guardian angel. I told her I would always be.

It is quite funny to think of the number of "children" I've acquired without being a birth father to any. Clive for example. The age difference between he and I no longer seems as great as it once did, however, I know he's always thought of me as a father figure. Once I was asked if he was my son. Clive was still in prison at the time, and I had been visiting on a regular basis — So regular, I suppose the staff all must have been wondering the same thing. I had been enjoying our little chats in the visitor area so well that I began to feel as if I was speaking to my son; sharing bits and pieces of wisdom and philosophy, coaching him through this dark time in his young life. It became somewhat of a joke to us. But it was a joke founded in meaning. When he was released from prison, our relationship remained the same, and as strong as ever. He came on several expeditions with me, and I even had the extraordinary opportunity to teach at the school he established in Africa. It was a joy to teach alongside him, and knowing we were employing our skills to such a noble cause was a gratifying feeling indeed. We did many great things together, Clive and I. Ironically, he claims that his favourite memories we shared were made during the time that he was incarcerated. The sentiment is mutual. After all, our friendship did begin behind steal bars. The strongest bonds are forged at the times of greatest hardship, and we forged a bond in that prison that will last even unto death.

I'm very blessed to have made so many of these friendships over the years. Many of the people I knew when I was young I've remained in contact with. These are true friends — The ones who stay by your side even when you grow old, and senile and broken-down. They tell me I may be old, but I'm not either of the latter. Happily, I've managed to evade the onset of senility, though I can't say it was entirely by chance. Continued mental activity can preserve brain function into old age. To put it simply, puzzles have kept me young, in a manner of speaking. My memory, though not as keen as it used to be, is still mostly intact. I still remember many of my life's experiences. I have not forgotten my friends — The ones whom I see every day, or the ones I met once, but were too memorable to forget. My old chum, Paul, another lifelong friend I saw just last week. Henry and Angela, whom I haven't seen in quite some time, and the departed Clark whose spirit lives on in the heart of our little boy Luke. Inspectors Chelmey and Grosky whose funerals I attended. Janice Quatlane who hasn't come to see me in too long; Arianna Barde, who Luke tells me sends her warm regards. The boy in Mossinia whose mother we saved, the kidnapped child Nina on the Crown Petone, the young woman in Folsense who relayed a message to her grandfather... Aldus, and Stachen, and Granny Riddleton and Puzzlette... Dean Delmona, Oswald Whistler, Dimitri Allen, Anton Herzen... Aurora — If she had a soul, I hope I'll see her again. These names and faces I all recall. Some I've seen recently. Some I have not seen in over forty years.

Alfendi, Flora, Randall, Clive, and Luke. We have a full house here tonight. Alfendi invited them all. He thought they should all be here. I'm glad that he did it. Alfendi's a good son. He's always been a good son. He's taken care of me, ever since he's been old enough not to need to be taken care of himself. I admit I have, on occasion, been angered by his solicitous nature. Once, a few months ago, I yelled at him. I scolded him for "treating me like a geriatric invalid", I believe were the words I used. I wish I hadn't said that... I didn't think my personality had altered any with age, but after that completely uncalled for outburst, I began to wonder if my mind was starting to slip away, so slowly and imperceptibly that I didn't even realize. I had never done that before... Alfendi has always been a sweet child, and he comes by his caring, if a little overprotective, personality naturally. Children learn through the actions of their parents — Alfendi acts towards me as I acted towards him when he was a boy. As a youth, Alfendi was rash, as any young boy could be, and he was a daredevil, always on the lookout for adventure. As a result, he was constantly in some form of trouble or another. I needed to keep a close eye on him, or else he may have severely injured himself, or worse. I know he hated me when I told him he couldn't go outside when it was raining, or do something foolhardy that all his friends were doing. When he was young, he resented my rules, regardless of how many times I told him they were there for a reason. However, as he grew older, he began to see that what I said was truth. Now I believe without even realizing it, Alfendi Layton has turned into his father. When I look back now, I can see that my son had always taken after me. He inherited his lust for puzzles and adventure from me, just as I inherited it from my father. Alfendi is not my biological son, but neither is Roland Layton my biological father. That one small, insignificant fact has not hindered our hereditary passing of traits, nor has it affected our love for one another.

Alfendi... My son. The one person who calls me father. My greatest accomplishment. My treasure I tried so hard to protect, and now the tables have turned, and he's taking care of and protecting me. My son... From birth he's been mine, and nobody else's. I was there in the delivery room when he was born. I named him. I brought him home. I helped him to learn and to grow from a helpless infant into a strong man of integrity. I tried my best to raise him properly, and give him the best childhood I could give him...without a mother present in his upbringing.

I've been missing her terribly lately. I've always missed her. When I see happy couples living out their lives together, and think how lucky they are. When I find myself staring idly at the clock, watching the time tick by. When snow falls, and lands on my head that has not been protected by a hat in over forty-three years... Especially when the snow falls in November. There has not been a day, an hour, a moment in time that I haven't missed her. But lately, it's been worse. Claire has been all I can think about. The woman who made me a gentleman. Who loved me, and shaped me into the man I am today. Thoughts of her envelope my world now, similar to the way they did when I lost her. When Claire died, I felt I might have died myself of the tearing grief I felt. My adoption of Alfendi, and my friends were the only things that saved me. But these feelings I have now are prodigiously worse, as if they are physical pains. The longing and wanting hit me hard in the chest, and make it difficult, so difficult to breath. The sorrow grows in the pit of my stomach like a cancer, and it's spreading through me with such velocity, taking over me. I've been to the doctor. There's nothing they can do. They say there's nothing wrong with me, but what I suffer from cannot be heard with a stethoscope, or seen with an MRI or X-ray. They cannot enter my mind and walk in my shoes, and so they cannot feel, or begin to fathom the pain that I am feeling. I have waited so long, but my old body is incapable of waiting any longer.

Everybody is so confused. My children, my friends — They all think I've given up on life. I will not get out of bed, because I can't. I know my legs will not support me, and I fear I am too lethargic to walk. I have eaten very little, as I have absolutely no appetite. And no matter how persistently Alfendi has tried, I have not solved any puzzles. I have no desire to. I believe my puzzle count is at an ideal number. My friends think the world is ending. Professor Layton refusing to solve puzzles is surely a sign of end times. Hoho, I told them not to be so melodramatic.

They're all here with me in my room, and it's lovely. The television is on, and the five o' clock news is playing, but the sound is on mute because no one is watching it. There's a kettle boiling in the kitchen, ready to make tea for whoever wants it, and there are puzzles at the foot of my bed, "just in case I want to solve them". Next to the bed on the nightstand is my old top-hat. It was under glass for many years, but Flora insisted upon looking at it out of its case, so... there it is.

I know I am not coming out of this now. I've reached the end of my time here, and frankly, I don't want to stay in this world any longer. _I want to go home. _

I say this as though I have a choice. I don't have a choice. I'm slipping. I can feel my soul starting to break free.

I am not afraid. At one time I would have been, but I am no longer.

I just wish I didn't have to leave _them_. Their lives have changed because of me, and my life was defined by my time spent with each one of them; the people in this room, and the ones on the outside. The ones who are in the prime of their lives today, and the ones who have gone before me. I owe so much to them...

I close my eyes in the soft glow of the television, the sounds of their hushed conversation in my ears. I have lived a long, full, happy life, and have done _almost_ everything I've ever dreamed of. The things I have left to do, I cannot do here.

Ah, that's right, I still needed to ask Luke something... But I don't remember what it was... Was it important?

"No, Hershel." Claire tells me gently, stroking my cheek. "It can wait. Your life has been a good one." she says, and I nod.

Yes, it has been, I agree.

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**To everyone who has been reading this series — Those of you who have been with me from the beginning, to those of you who are reading for the first time. To everyone who has reviewed and sent me private messages, to everyone who's provided input and ideas, to everyone who has favourited or followed this story:**

**I would like to extend my sincerest thanks. I know I say it with every chapter, and this is nothing new to you, but I just want you to know that I truly appreciate the support you've given me. I value you guys as much as Hershel values his friends. :) I thought about including all your names here, but I realized it wouldn't be fair to anyone who may review for the first time after I post this last chapter. ;)**

**I wish this story didn't have to end, but hey, I guess an eight month run is nothing to sneeze at! xD I've squeezed more time out of this series than I ever expected to, and again I thank you all for sticking with me to the end. If anyone ever wants to chat about Professor Layton with me, feel free to send me a PM! **

**Until then, goodbye for now,**

**~Dew**


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